Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mabel Pines had been doing well.

Great, actually. High school hadn’t exactly been a musical, but she did her best to make it one. There was no clique she couldn’t get along with in the end thanks to the Power of Mabel, save for the few she decided weren’t worth the effort (bullies, mainly). Then again, as Pacifica had proven, nothing was impossible.

Once Mabel was freshly armed with cash from various part-time jobs and a driver’s license, her chaotic potential only increased. There were several studio’s worth of arts and crafts supplies all stuffed into her room, which would gather dust then inevitably be seized in a few years for some frenzied project. Sudden midnight adventures with Dipper all across town were now a possibility, with the time-honored tradition of nose goes deciding who had to drive.

Then it came time for college, which carried a whole host of problems with it. For one thing, Dipper was (still) intent on studying the paranormal, and Mabel… was not. There were a couple universities in common on their lists, but eventually it was time to face the writing on the wall: they would have to split up. It was like losing a piece of her heart. To soften the wound, there were endless calls between the two, often as they just silently did other activities, and they met up every single break. Their grunkles also called in often. Apparently Ford had rigged together a something-or-other that made Wi-Fi no longer a concern in the middle of the ocean, though said oceanic conditions did make malfunctions common. It helped, and Mabel recovered in the long run, but the physical distance ached sometimes. Then again, she'd take that over emotional distance any day.

The other main problem college brought was figuring out what Mabel wanted to study. Or, as the question had so often been put to her, what she wanted to do with her life. This issue was less caused by a lack of options and more an abundance of them. She had to do one thing, for the rest of her life? And she had to pick now?? “I don’t know” was always a real dud of an answer, so she made up a new one each time. Art, fashion, literature, acting, you name it. Secretly, she hoped that people’s reactions might help guide the decision, but every time they just smiled and nodded and told her that seemed like a good fit, which she thanked them for saying before silently screaming in her head.

When asked, her Grunkle Stan said that college was for chumps anyways, and Grunkle Ford grimaced, ignored him, and told her that what she should major in was actually none of those things. After all, she was deciding what she should study, not what she should do for a career.

“I’d be willing to bet you already know all you can know about those topics," he had said with a chuckle, “and the whole point of university is education. I'm sure you'd learn a thing or two with a major like that, but nothing you wouldn’t have looked up on your own. Go for the topic you’d never bother or be able to teach yourself at home.”

“That’s solid advice, actually,” Stan had chimed in. “I mean, I still stand by my thing, but that’s good too. Don’t pick something you hate, though. There’s a sweet spot in there somewhere of ‘just enough interest’ that you’re looking for, got it?”

Armed with this fresh perspective, Mabel dove back into her concerningly Dipper-like conspiracy board of potential majors and trashed almost all of them before landing on one. At long last, she was officially Mabel Pines: Psychology Student. It hadn’t even been on her radar before, but now she was fascinated by how people ticked. One hop, skip, graduate degree, and a couple of certificates later and she was now a licensed therapist, though she still had trouble finding a good specialization. Mabel started collecting certifications like Pokémon, and soon she had a wide array of skills and experience to draw on. Her long-time favorite was family therapy, though she also had a soft spot for neurodiversity (which, well, of course) and sleep disorders (they always reminded her of Dipper and Ford). Most recently, she had started researching forensic therapy of all things, a.k.a. working with criminals.

That may have been where this whole mess started.

As Mabel arrived at her apartment, she found a letter placed neatly on the doorstep. It had no return address, and the envelope seemed to glisten with a purple light. A black wax stamp, indented with the image of a brain, kept it sealed shut, and on the opposite side was written “Mabel Pines” in large, looping script. Her own address was also absent.

This was, obviously, Magic As Hell, something you just learned to identify after spending literally any time in Gravity Falls. She almost opened it anyways right off the bat, before pausing and lowering it back down. Curses were not uncommon with this sort of thing, and she’d really prefer to let someone know beforehand in case it went bad.

Quickly, she opened her apartment and set it down on the table, texting a photo to Dipper with the caption “hey uhhh I just got this weird thing in the mail, thoughts before I open it?”

The split-second time between the message being marked read and a response being sent was truly something to marvel at. He probably just broke a record of some kind. “ok I don’t know what that is but first thoughts is DONT OPEN IT”

“its addressed to me itd be rude not to open it!!! what if whatever sent this gets mad I didnt open their creepy letter and THATS what gets me killed huh?????”

“NO?” he shot back, which was very soon followed by “I mean maybe??” and then “ok thats a fair point just be careful please, text me soon so I know you’re ok”

Back-up plan now secured, Mabel now turned her attention to Waddles, who oinked softly at her frenzied return to the apartment. Pigs were not technically allowed in her apartment complex, but thankfully an exception had been made for Waddles since he looked so polite. He was lying on his side in the middle of the room, and while he had looked up to watch her enter, he had not yet decided it was worth the effort to stand up. She carefully pressed her foot to his belly and scooted him up to the wall, as far away as possible, which he complied with easily.

So, the letter. Actually breaking the seal was probably a bad idea, curse-wise. She sat down and tried to neatly pry the seal off with her fingernails, which only resulted in tiny black crumbs decorating her hands and table. After a slightly embarrassing amount of time spent going back and forth between attacking the seal and prying gunk out from under her nails, she finally admitted defeat and grabbed a knife, cleanly detaching the seal and revealing her prize. The letter itself was that same prismatic purple color, almost iridescent. Strangely, in opposition to the fancy handwritten name on the envelope, the letter was entirely typed. It read,

“Dear Mabel Pines,

Firstly, we would like to congratulate you on your distinguishing achievements in the field of therapy within Dimension 46’\. It is not often one from your dimension makes waves outside of it, so take a moment to be proud of your skills :)

Secondly, your outstanding ability as a therapist has drawn the attention of us here at the Theraprism, located in Dimension 5150. We understand that you likely have not heard of us, but we do vital work throughout the multiverse, rehabilitating those that are too dangerous to be kept elsewhere. With infinite time, even the most stubborn case can make a recovery and eventually be reincarnated elsewhere. You have been selected to join our elite staff to aid in this task.

If you refuse, simply toss this letter and be done with it. But if you would like to know more, simply mark the box below. Do not worry about scheduling this conversation—as we are located outside of time, you will be returned to the exact moment you left as soon as we have concluded our business.

Praise the Axolotl,
The Theraprism Staff”

Mabel blinked slowly at the paper a few more times, then turned it over just to double-check that there was nothing else there. “Huh,” she said aloud, and Waddles snorted curiously. Finally she reached for her phone, where a text from Dipper was already waiting.

“should I be calling the cops now”

“not a curse, its a job offer??” she replied back.

“what”

A fair enough reaction. Mabel fished for a nearby pen, chewing slightly on the end of it while she drummed her fingers on the paper, but a smile engulfed her face. This was the sort of adventure she lived for! Besides, it had been a while since she’d taken a vacation outside her dimension. And all without a minute lost? It was a done deal before it even started. The job offer sounded fine too, she supposed. Mabel left another text saying “if I’m not back in a couple minutes something is wrong,” took a deep breath, and put pen to paper.

Mabel’s first, instinctive thought was that there had been some sort of power outage. As she looked up into the now black room, vertigo seized her and she screamed. There was no floor, no chair, no letter. Her frazzled brain assumed that the pen must have gone too, but as she looked over she realized that she had maintained an iron grip on that, at least. Her organs jostled each other about, each one knowing that it was falling but not able to agree in what direction. There was no visual difference as she shut her eyes, but there was some slim comfort in the action. This was seeming like possibly a very bad idea all of a sudden. Chills rushed through her, leaving staticky pinpricks in their wake. She distantly thought that she might have been screaming, but it was tough to tell over the blood sloshing around in her ears.

As she sailed through the void, it took her a few moments to register that, no, that was wrong, she had stopped. Mabel's brain continued its phantom movement even as more familiar sensations began to register: the blowing of an air conditioner, white light beyond her eyelids, and (oh thank god) a floor. Breathing heavily, she forced one eye open and was nearly blinded by the brightness of wherever she was. Mabel slowly unlocked her stiff joints, stopped white-knuckling the pen, and raised her head up to take a look at her surroundings, which…

…

Were underwhelming, honestly. All of that warranted something at least a little cool. This just looked like a hospital waiting room. Actually, that was probably good, because she was suddenly aware that there was an ever-increasing chance of her throwing up everywhere.

Mabel shuffled backwards and flopped into a chair, which was regrettable given its generally uncomfortable construction, but it still served its purpose as she caught her breath and fought down nausea. Man, she was getting old. Once upon a time not even the loopiest roller coaster could make her motion sick, and now she couldn't even handle a light spot of interdimensional travel? Shameful. Thankfully, it didn’t last long, and once boredom set in she surged to her feet again to investigate, abandoning the pen in her pocket where she would inevitably forget about it until it ruined the wash.

On second glance, there was definitely something strange about this room. A large window spanned the length of one of the walls, and it provided a view of what was presumably space, all tinted by a bright fuchsia color of some sort. When she squinted, multicolored orbs could be seen in the distance, similar to those she had seen on her brief foray into the Nightmare Realm long ago. Honestly, that bright pink color was obscuring the view a fair deal. She strained her neck and pressed her face to the glass, leaving a Mabel-shaped imprint behind, but it was impossible to see the rest of this building from here. Just above the window, a sagging, somewhat weathered banner had been hung up, which stated “Welcome new employees! :)” in bright colors. Charming! This place couldn’t be all bad then, right?

Turning her attention back to the room, Mabel walked up to what seemed like an automatic door, though it stayed solidly closed at her approach. “Uh, hello?” she called out, knocking on it slightly. “I’m Mabel Pines. I’m here about the job offer? You sent me a letter?” This whole thing was feeling weirder by the minute, but honestly that was pretty par for the course by this point in her life. The doors finally slid open under her fist, and Mabel squeaked softly as she was brought face to face with some sort of plant person, their head culminating in a vertical shock of thick leaves. A few petals seemed to stand in for facial features, while a pair of root-hands held a clipboard. The whole effect was topped off with a big lab coat engulfing their frame, leaving them at around shoulder height.

“Welcome, Mabel,” the creature said pleasantly, ushering her forward and already beginning to walk away. Their stride was confident, and deceptively fast for their height. Mabel pumped her legs to keep up. “I see you’re up and about already. That’s a good sign! Many are… put off by our methods of travel.”

“I can see why,” she remarked, trying to keep pace while still looking at everything. It was mainly a sterile, blank hallway, though the occasional window let her glance into what seemed like offices of some sort. As she turned her attention back to her new guide, she watched as the leaves on their head slowly swayed and shifted around each other, always in constant movement. “What was your name, again?”

“Oh, apologies. I’m Vera. We’ll begin with a tour just to get you acquainted with the facilities, then return here to employee lounge #3231, where we may discuss the terms of your potential employment. Come along now,” they replied, their tone just as quick as the rest of them. Mabel glanced at their clipboard, where they were flipping through a very large to-do list. Infinite, if she had to guess.

The Theraprism was apparently very large, the scale of which had been impressed upon her with a map and a very, very, very tiny “you are here!” dot. The whole structure was built into a massive brain (which she wasn't sure if she thought was cool or gross yet), which itself was hovering inside a giant pink crystal. For security, presumably. A much more helpful map right beside that one showed the floor layout, which was unnerving to process even on its own.

“Each floor functions separately to the rest, almost entirely self-contained. We are currently on floor 323, part of the Dimensional Tyrant Ward. Should you choose to join us, most of your work will be done here,” Vera explained brusquely, their petal eyes roving over the map for a few moments before they took flight again. Their speed made a lot more sense now: it'd be impossible to cover so much ground otherwise.

They carried on at a decent clip, showing off art rooms, libraries, cafeterias, a visitation center, and, of course, the patients’ rooms. As she toured around, she looked into some of the windows, and, uh… wow. The patients here would put Cthulhu to shame, that was for sure. One that seemed more sludge than person turned to look at her, and she could swear it physically gave her a headache to stare at. That one wasn’t even one of the confusing ones, she was pretty sure it could just do that.

“Wait, is… Is that…?” Mabel interrupted, slowing to look at a creature that seemed alarmingly similar to the dogs on those Smile Dip packages.

“It’s best you don’t look directly at it,” Vera advised, beckoning her away as their leaves twisted around each other nervously.

The Theraprism was doing good work here. Necessary work, if the number of patients was anything to go by. Actually, it was a little concerning to realize the sheer number of mass murderers and warlords that used to be out there. But Mabel’s instinctive first impression was that something was creepy about this place, and somehow it was not the dimensional tyrants living here. Every hallway looked the same, every door identical, the different types of rooms only distinguished by name. The security cameras everywhere were admittedly understandable, but still a bit spooky. The only notable features throughout the whole landscape were maps and schlocky, straight-from-the-can inspirational posters, and their same-ness was getting unnerving. Though admittedly, some of the animal ones were pretty cute, even (and sometimes especially) the ones with a concerning number of limbs or facial features. Honestly, Mabel was really hoping she could see a few of those in-person someday. Maybe it could be a business expense? Were emotional support three-headed frogs a thing out here?

“And this,” announced Vera, snapping Mabel out of her train of thought as they came up to the only unusual looking door in the whole place, “is the Reincarnation Chamber.” The door was covered with streamers and paper balloons, certainly the cheeriest thing for miles around. “When a patient has completed treatment and is ready to move on, they are escorted here, to be reincarnated as some other life form. This is what it's all about: the final step in an infinite process. Come on in, I think you'll like what you see.”

Mabel and her guide stepped inside, only to be immediately met with another door. A smaller, glass-walled room had been built in the center of this one, as if to be observed. The room felt a touch warmer than anywhere else in the Theraprism had been, and Mabel felt her shoulders drop slightly.

“Ah! Paingorious, you're already here, wonderful,” Vera greeted, strolling over with open arms and a wide smile to a tall, dark silhouette sitting opposite another staff member. “Mabel, I'd like you to meet Paingorious. They're scheduled for reincarnation any moment now, and it would be good for you to speak with a patient on the other end of things. How does that sound, Paingorious?”

The creature turned in its seat to face them, long arms reaching to hold the back of its chair in webbed, spiky hands. Its face was a bright red, and the shape was entirely alien. Sharp, serrated teeth reflected the crimson and gave the appearance of being blood-stained, while its eyes were a dark, glistening void. Several spikes and needles stuck out of its head, and it was difficult to tell if they were natural or added on. It nodded at Vera, then waved its free hand at Mabel slowly.

“Hello!” Mabel called out cheerfully, waving back. Having been given the go-ahead, she trotted up to talk to them properly. The other staff member quickly stood up and offered her the seat. “I'm Mabel. I take it you're Paingorious?”

They nodded, with what sounded like a hiss. They were smiling at her, though, so it couldn't be going so bad.

“Super cool to meet you! Do you know what you're reincarnating as?”

“Butterfly.” The answer was low and garbled, as though their throat was full of rocks. It might have been, for all Mabel knew.

She gasped with delight. “Oh, I LOVE butterflies! I think you'll make a wonderful butterfly.”

They sheepishly rubbed the back of their head and turned to the side, cheeks getting darker. “You think so?” they rumbled out.

“Honey, I know so!”

“Thanks. I'm pretty excited about it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mabel spotted Vera nudging the other employee and gesturing back at her as if to say, “see?” There were more important things to focus on now, though.

“That's good! Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your experience here? I might be joining the staff soon, so any info is more than welcome.”

They nodded creakily, so Mabel plunged forward. “Right! Well, might as well start with the obvious question. Has the Theraprism actually improved your life?”

“Yeah, I think so. I'm really into gardening now, which I don't think I ever would have tried before." As they warmed up to the conversation, their grating, languorous voice picked up energy. "I feel a lot more… content, I think. Don't get me wrong, conquering planets and torturing people was all well and good at the time, but I don't think that's me anymore.” They looked away, off and into the distance. “I don't know if it ever was.”

“That is so beautiful,” Mabel sniffed, holding a hand to her cheek. “Is your love of gardening why you wanted to be a butterfly?”

They instantly sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward, beaming. “Yes! I never knew how much there is to learn about agriculture. I could go on about it for hours! Though, uh…” they looked away again, “I wouldn't want to bore you…”

Mabel grinned. “Lay it on me, Pain-man. I'd love to learn some plant facts!”

For the next half hour, Mabel was doused in interdimensional plant knowledge, including that there's a dimension where potatoes grow actual eyes, and another where flowers get up and walk around at night. Fun fact: apparently plants in her own dimension emit high-frequency “screams” when distressed! That one… was kind of disturbing. She could never look at a lawn mower the same.

“And… you're fine with reincarnating after this? Don't you want to go back into the world and live your current life? It just seems odd to me that you reach the platonic ideal of your life and then, boom, you reincarnate,” Mabel asked after a while, frowning.

They pondered the question for a moment, then responded, “I want to start fresh, I think. I don’t want people to see me and think of Paingorious, you know? There’s too much weight there now. I'm excited to move on with it all.”

“Patients do retain a sense of self and memories, by the way,” the other staff member chimed in. “They might be dulled somewhat in the transition, but they're still the same person.”

“In that case, I'm really happy for you, PG!” she declared, turning back to Paingorious. “Hey, maybe we'll even see each other again some day.”

“I'd like that,” they said, face contorting into a particularly big smile while Mabel stood up to leave.

As Mabel and Vera exited, Vera turned to face her, barely suppressing a large grin. “Isn't it incredible? They'll be getting a second chance at life now,” they gushed, eyes brimming with pride. Seemingly unconsciously, the leaves making up their head were quivering with excitement. They hugged their clipboard close to their chest.

“You really care about the work you do here, don't you?” Mabel observed, tilting her head.

“Oh, yes! If I may speak personally, it's the ‘lost causes’ I've always been interested in. Those who seem so far gone, no one can get through to them. But with infinite time, anything is possible. When I found this place, I knew that this was what I wanted to dedicate my life towards. I've seen many patients leave, and it's always stunning to watch them turn it all around.” Mabel was fairly certain this was the longest she had ever seen Vera stand still.

“That's what I like to hear!” Mabel crowed. Vera beamed back in a way that warmed Mabel's heart, then seemed to remember that they were in the middle something, and immediately began bustling off again with a quick wave for Mabel to follow. It was hard to match the image of what she'd seen of the Theraprism so far with everything she'd just talked about with Vera and Paingorious. Sure, it was all a bit cold-looking, and the color scheme was 80% white and 20% gray, but… did that really matter? They were getting results at the end of the day, or whatever they had instead of days here.

“You really think I'd make a difference here?” she asked instead of voicing those thoughts.

“I know so after seeing you talk with Paingorious. I've never seen them so talkative with a stranger before. You seem to have a knack for looking past the surface and drawing people out. That's the most important skill you can have here.” They started to slow down, at long last. “That should conclude our tour. We’ll finish up at the lounge.”

They must have looped around at some point, because Mabel could swear it didn’t take half as long to get back to the lounge. Inside was possibly the most color she had seen since showing up here, and her eyes ached for it like a forgotten friend. The sofas seemed nice and cushy, the small kitchen appeared well stocked, and a hologram acted as a cooler version of a TV, though she thought that was perhaps overkill. For all intents and purposes, it was a relatively normal lounge. The only concern in this room was that Mabel was realizing it might be difficult to tell a patient from an employee wearing orange. Based on some of the stares she received as she entered, they were probably thinking the same about her.

Vera beckoned her to sit at one of the sofas, a coffee table between them. They laid out a contract in front of her. “You’ll find this to be a fairly comfortable position. Given our privileged location outside the timestream, you may travel between here and your home at your own behest, never missing a minute in Dimension 46’\ while you’re gone. If I may, I recommend taking advantage of your time off here before going back, to avoid burnout from two jobs.”

“Wait, I still have to work in my dimension? I don’t get paid?” Mabel sputtered.

“Your dimension isn’t exactly receptive to outside employment. Here, you’ll instead be paid in time. Think about what no time flow means: no aging, extra breaks, all on top of a chance to do something truly fulfilling and without losing out on your old life. You’d be hard pressed to find a better offer that pays in cash.” They flipped the contract to a page that seemed to detail various work schedules. “Some find it easier to stay here full-time. If you desire, you may do that and return to your dimension at the end of your employment, though this may be… disconcerting, given that you would not physically age. This contract here,” they tapped the paper, “has you on alternating weeks, but this is negotiable based on your preferences. Room and board will of course be provided.”

Mabel hesitated. “Is there any way I could just come and go as I please?”

“We’ve had a few agreements similar to that. Usually the employee comes and goes via a tonal dimension shifter.” At her blank look, they added, “It looks like a whistle. The only requirement is that your ‘hours’ at the Theraprism match those at a standard workplace in your dimension, tracked by a stopwatch or similar device, which would of course run the same regardless of actual time flow. It’s the same for the alternating schedule, the only difference being the level of rigidity. Is that what you would prefer?”

Mabel stared at Vera, mind spiraling while she tried to figure out exactly how this whole “no time” thing worked. Whatever, it was probably fine. “I think so?”

They inclined their head and waved a hand over the papers, and a swath of letters melted together and reformed, reflecting the change.

This was something she was definitely going to have to read. Maybe she could get Grunkle Stan to do it, he could spot a scam a mile away. “What would I be doing here, exactly?” she asked, curious.

“I’m glad you asked. To start your career, we’d like to have you help us with a bit of a problem case around here. Our patients are often stubborn, but he still manages to stand out in that regard. We believe your specialized skill set and background may help get through to him. If not, well… it will still be good experience.”

------------------------

Mabel was led back down the labyrinthine passageways, eventually stopping at the visitation center. Vera had set off in such a rush (as usual) that Mabel was left floundering, unable to ask follow-up questions. A name might be a start, thanks. Still, she followed along good-naturedly and decided to just wait and see.

As the two walked in, Vera informed her, “Until you sign on with us, you’re still considered a citizen and cannot interact with the patient directly. He’ll be here any moment now." Quickly, they ushered over to a chair opposite another, with some glass in between. A file folder was shoved into one hand as her other was guided to a phone on the wall, and all at the same time a door was opening on the other side of the room.

"Wait," Mabel protested, suddenly overwhelmed by input. Her eyes flashed from side to side, unsure of what to process first. The file was good—she could at least know their name that way. But there was movement by the door, and her attention snapped up and away before she could collect herself. A giant guard of some sort, perhaps a slug-man, slid in first, keeping an eyestalk on whoever was behind him. Mabel matched his gaze, and found that he was followed closely by a small, yellow triangle.

The phone clattered onto the table.

He looked over at the sudden noise, and his tired eye widened, pupil shrinking. Mabel chanced a glance down at the files she was still holding, as if there were any other one-eyed triangular dimensional tyrants. There was his name as clear as day: Bill Cipher.

“No,” she mumbled numbly, half to herself. Then, louder, “No!”

“I know, but if you would give it a chance—” Vera tried to say placatingly, and Mabel was half-startled to remember that there were other people in the room.

“I can’t—do you even…” she trailed off then, feeling something click into place. She whipped around to face Vera. “Of course you knew. That’s why you chose me. That’s my ‘specialized skill set,’ isn’t it?” She was aware of her voice raising with the accusation, but it was hard to care at the moment.

They opened their mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a sharp banging on the glass. Mabel whirled around again only to find herself inches from Bill’s face, the glass an illusion that could falter at any moment. She shrieked slightly and fell back, her heart pounding somewhere close to her ear. Satisfied with that reaction, Bill reached over to grab the phone on his side. Even with her own phone a few paces away on the desk, his sheer volume carried through the crackly speaker and clear over to her.

“HEY, SHOOTING STAR!” he called out merrily, and her world froze.

Chapter Text

The next few seconds were blurry. There was some awareness of her vaulting upwards, marching towards the glass. A sick sense of glee at watching Bill rear back from her approach, followed by a flash of light and tipping forward. That’s when the yelling started. Mabel stretched forward, clawing and biting at whatever she could reach, one of her fists clenched tight around something. She was vaguely aware of strong hands on her shoulders trying to pull her away, but she could not be distracted from her quarry. Patients, visitors, and staff alike stampeded around, creating an endless uproar of both agitated shouts and cheering. Stupidly familiar laughter drifted above the din, which only made Mabel fight harder. Then the sound was undercut by a clear, sharp whistle, and suddenly, Mabel was falling.

Next thing she knew, Mabel was standing in the middle of her apartment in front of a bewildered Waddles, with a small clump of eyelashes clutched in one fist and a file folder of some sort in the other. Her hair had been pulled in a couple spots, and her sternum ached as though tiny feet had attempted to kick at her. The sore throat she had suggested that one of the people who had been screaming was her.

Wait.

File folder.

Patient files.

With a sharp gasp, Mabel yanked the file up to her face, reading it three times over just to be sure she wasn't seeing things. Dimensional travel sickness was a thing, right? Maybe it could affect your eyesight? Or suddenly materialize medical documents in your hand?

No matter how she looked at it, the printed letters on the front continued to read "Patient Notes: Bill Cipher.”

"Okay. Okay," Mabel muttered as she began pacing in a furious circle. Her hands automatically went to pick at the paper before she forced them still. Briefly, she hovered it over the kitchen counter, but lifted it back up like it might tarnish once it touched down. "Soooo... I attacked a patient. Stole said patient's files. Apparently fought so viciously I had to be sent to another dimension, which is actually really cool now that I say it out loud. Still that's… That's not great, legally speaking."

There have probably been worse job interviews, right?

"Yeah, for sure!" Mabel responded to no one. "I bet this happens all the time."

Waddles oinked, likely conveying a deep sense of concern for his human and reassuring her that everything would be okay. That or he was hungry.

"I just have to... give this back..." The next problem was immediately made obvious as Mabel turned to the table, only to find the letter missing. "Oh no. Uh, Theraprism people?" Mabel called out towards the ceiling. "I have your file, I didn't mean to take it! But I'm not sure how to give it back?"

There was no response.

There continued to be no response for the next several days. After the first hour, Mabel assumed she wasn't getting the job. She wasn't totally up to snuff on her interdimensional workplace etiquette, but attacking patients seemed like a violation of some sort. Even if that patient had totally deserved it. Really, Mabel would argue he started it well over a decade ago, thank you very much.

The file sat on the counter and stared her down at every meal, making her pray for a way to get rid of the thing. Trashing it was out of the question, in case someone else got ahold of it, and it seemed a little early for destruction, even if fire was a fitting way for it to go. The only real option was to hold on to the file until she was inevitably given a way to return it.

Or.

Or she could open it. It was so very tempting. The thing was just brimming with pages—apparently the people at the Theraprism had found him to be a fascinating case study. If she had wanted a challenge, here it was. She could reread that ream of paper for the rest of her life and still never understand what made him tick. He probably talked about her in there. He probably talked about her family. Didn't she have a right to see that?

It still felt like a breach, to be honest. Bill may have been a total jerk whom she had no qualms about fist-fighting, but she had standards, dammit. Surely this violated space HIPAA? Also, it definitely wouldn't look good for her "it was just an accident" case if she also "accidentally" read the whole thing.

But then again, the Theraprism didn’t even have a concept of time. Surely if they wanted the files back, they would have just shown up the second she had left and taken them? That was why after the first week, Mabel assumed that no one was coming back for the files. And speaking of, isn’t it just negligence on the Theraprism’s part that they didn’t retrieve the files? Really, if they were going to let them roam free for this long, the malpractice was on them. Roughly ten minutes after that decision, she flipped open the front cover.

It had everything. Phobias, habits, every little tick and saying, all jotted down. One of the very first notes said he was a pathological liar. Mabel could see how they had figured that one out so quickly. There was a dream journal, most of which was fairly suspect given the aforementioned “pathological liar” problem. An entire section was devoted to piecing together what his life had been like growing up. From what she had skimmed, very little progress had been made there, mainly noting that he was from some sort of place called “Euclydia” that had been destroyed. It was all there, just as dense and annoying as the person it tried to understand. There was a section for his art therapy drawings as well, which were almost exclusively blue and red triangles.

“What, did they run out of yellow markers?” she snorted to herself.

And she had been right: he did talk about the Pines family. Oh boy, did he talk about the Pines family. It took up a surprising portion of his ramblings for someone so long lived. Dipper seemed to be his favorite (and easiest) target for his taunts. Ford was treated with a boatload of mixed emotions, equal parts hatred and longing, which on the whole was decidedly gross. Stan he despised so deeply that he would nearly have a fit every time the name was mentioned, which was probably understandable given that Stan punched him so hard he ceased to exist. Mabel made a mental note to congratulate him again on that sometime. As for her, Mabel wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or deeply insulted that he seemed to genuinely like her and her brand of chaos, so she dropped the matter and moved on entirely.

The dam had been broken, and for the next week Mabel’s new pet project (aside from a new blanket she was making for Waddles) was digging through the stack of files like it was her leisure reading. She had thought that this might be the sort of thing Dipper would be interested in, but she soon decided otherwise. For the most part, it was just the ramblings of a triangle desperate for someone to take him seriously again, not detailed notes on the multiverse at large.

But that was exactly what intrigued Mabel. People and their brains were her preferred variety of mystery, and this was a good one. It was akin to a chef going out to a restaurant: all the work of compiling and analyzing the data had been done for her. Now she got to sit back, read, and enjoy it.

At least, she enjoyed it until she found another shimmery letter addressed to her, and her fingers went numb.

She subtly edged over to close the file folder on her desk, as though that would make any difference at all. The note inside simply read: "Mark here for your transportation. We would appreciate it if you could talk with us," with another one of those boxes below the text.

Guess she wasn't off the hook for that after all. Oops.

Sighing, Mabel grabbed the files and marked the box. No point in waiting around. Instantly, she was plucked from her dimension, hurtling through an inky black space. It was every bit as unpleasant as the first time, except now she had the attention available to notice other fun sensations: the heat leaching out of her limbs, her lungs being pulled taut and collapsing, even the fuzzy feeling taking over her muscles. Quietly, she prayed that she didn’t accidentally let go of the files mid-transit, which were flopping around a concerning amount. Without much fanfare, the motion was gone, and Mabel was deposited back in that white welcome room.

This time, Mabel was immediately aware of another person standing in there with her. Vera looked up from a stack of forms they were filling out, and wasted no time (was it technically possible to waste time here?) in standing up and heading out the door.

“To my office, please,” they said, as Mabel scrambled to keep up while still fighting nausea. This was it. She was going to get arrested. She was going to get arrested and have to find some sort of space lawyer and go to a space trial and inevitably go to space jail. Did they even have space lawyers? What if they did space executions? Oh god, who was going to take Waddles for his afternoon walk?

A dull pain alerted Mabel to the fact that at some point she had started gripping her arms rather tightly, crumpling the file folder in the process. Casually, she dropped her hands to her sides and straightened up, all while her mind continued to fret.

Mabel’s panic reached a fever pitch at the same time as the two reached Vera's office. According to the sign on the door, they were a director of some sort around here, which might explain how busy they always seemed. As soon as the door was open, Mabel flitted over to the seat in front of the desk, clasping her hands and looking as pitiful as she could manage. According to Grunkle Stan, her puppy-dog eyes could put actual puppies to shame, though he might have been a biased source. Either way, it was something that she could use to her advantage if she wanted to, and she wanted to now.

“I didn't know I was still holding the files, I really didn't mean to take them. It was a total accident, I swear,” she pled. As an afterthought, she added, “And of course I'm really sorry about fighting… the patient.” Her speech turned somewhat more mechanical. “That was obviously very inappropriate, and I—”

“You're not in trouble for that,” Vera interrupted tiredly. “And certainly not the theft, we’re the ones that sent you back with the files. We may have some problems if you actually read them, but we'll cross that bridge in a moment.” Mabel tried to not shrink in her seat.

“Quick question: why am I not in trouble?” Mabel squeaked, afraid that they had somehow forgotten that fact up until she had so kindly reminded them.

Vera huffed out a laugh. “Apparently you have some fans looking out for you,” they said, a tad dryly, and Mabel couldn't tell if they disagreed with that decision or if this was their normal level of dryness. “You weren't wrong, back before…” they trailed off and gestured in the air vaguely, “that. The majority of us believe that your shared history makes you a familiar face for Mr. Cipher and perhaps more likely to get through to him. Axolotl knows we've had no luck with him ourselves. As a result, you're considered quite valuable to our team, despite any… disagreements, between the two of you.” Vera idly pulled at their sleeve and hesitated before adding, “Really, we expected this sort of reaction to occur. The surprise was the glass vanishing like that.”

Mabel snorted. “I have a guess as to who caused that.”

Vera shrugged. “He said the same about you.”

That lying little bastard. Thank God she'd kicked his ass after that, he totally deserved it.

Vera gave her a strange look, and she very much hoped her violent thoughts weren't showing on her face. “Right, well, with all of that in mind,” they said, pushing forward a familiar piece of paper, “we'd still like to hire you, if you're willing.”

Mabel briefly choked on air, rewinding to fully process what Vera had just said. “You want to hire me.”

“Yes.”

“Despite the fact I stole files and attacked a patient.”

Vera shrugged again. “It’s a unique position you’re in.”

Mabel took a moment to look over the contract. It was all fairly standard. Anything particularly unusual had been explained to her last time, save for one clause. It detailed her “training,” so to speak, where she would be expected to work with a single patient until she was deemed a good enough fit to join the team. “I could still do this job normally? Not just work with him forever?” she questioned after a moment.

Vera nodded. “We only ask that you give it an honest try. Don’t expect it to last just a few Earth weeks, though.”

“I don't know…” Mabel said, still trying to mull it over.

“It should be noted,” Vera added coolly, “that we currently have no knowledge of whether or not you've read those files. If you sign on, you're meant to read them anyway. No harm no foul. If not… it may be necessary to investigate the matter.”

Ah. There was the sting in the tail. Mabel shifted slightly, and Vera's look told her they both knew what that investigation would find. She tried not to think about how easily a time traveler could catch her red-handed.

Well, the Theraprism had seemed genuinely inviting before all of that nonsense started. She could still have that job, if she just put up with Bill for a while. Then again, she'd have to put up with Bill for a while, so that sucked. But was she going to let that dumb triangle stand in the way of what she wanted? No! Come hell or high water, she was Mabel Pines, and she wasn’t going to let something like that stop her dreams. Mabel reached out and signed the paper.

------------------------

One trip to the storage room later, Mabel was now equipped with as much merch as they could load onto her, including (but not limited to) a branded satchel, branded journal, and a branded lanyard to go with her new ID. Of course, she was also given one of those whistles, designed to transport her and only her. It had a faint pink hue and polyhedral shape, probably meant to resemble the “prism” in “Theraprism.”

This was all managed in a slight stupor as Mabel prepared herself to face the patient. It was easier to think of him in those terms. Scheduling was a nightmare in a place like this, but from what she understood, he was already waiting for her inside office #32327. One deep breath, two, three, and she pushed open the door.

Sure enough, there he was, lounging across the couch and taking up an impressive amount of space for someone with such a tiny frame. Her pulse jumped as she realized his eye was wide open, staring straight at her.

Awkwardly, she waved. “Hey, Bill.” This was real, right? She was saying hello to him like he was some friend from work?

Only now did he close his eye, not bothering to look as the door clicked shut behind her. “WELL I HOPE YOU'RE HERE TO APOLOGIZE,” he sniffed, with a truly impressive amount of self-righteousness for someone who had literally tried to murder her and her family.

“No way!” she snapped back before she could think better of it. “You first. Besides, you're the one who vanished the glass, you can't claim to be a victim after that.”

He just shrugged. “I SEEM TO RECALL YOU BREAKING THE GLASS.”

“There wasn't even any broken glass left over!”

“TRULY DESPICABLE, THEM USING GLASS MADE OF MIRAGE SAND. ENOUGH FORCE AND BAM, NOTHING’S THERE! WE SHOULD SUE!” He still hadn't opened his eye, and the dismissal was beginning to get under her skin.

Mabel shifted in place, too full of nerves and energy to sit down just yet. “Hey, if you want to deal with all that paperwork, you go right ahead. I've got better things to do.”

“I DOUBT IT,” he snorted. “BUT NO THANKS, SOUNDS BORING. AND HEY, YOUR FUNERAL IF YOU DON'T WANNA FESS UP ON THIS ONE!”

“What's so important about an apology anyways? I didn't realize you were so sensitive,” she prodded, smirking at the way he furrowed his brow.

“OH SURE, I'M REEAAALL SENSITIVE. JUST ASK THE GUY WHOSE ARMS I TURNED INTO CHAIRS. I JUST FIGURED YOU MIGHT WANT TO TRY AND SAVE FACE WHEN THE AUTOMATON GETS HERE AND TELLS US TO HASH IT OUT, BUT YOU WON'T SEE ME COMPLAINING WHEN YOU GET TWISTED UP LIKE A PRETZEL AND SPAT BACK OUT OF THIS STUPID ROCK!”

Mabel almost responded. then stopped. Did… Did he know why she was there? He had only looked at her for a second, there was every chance he'd missed the ID badge or confused it for a visitor's pass or something. Mabel knew there was no one to fess up to, no automation coming to force them to play nice. Clearly, he didn’t. “I'm not here to ‘hash it out,’” she informed him, biting her lip to keep her reactions hidden.

Finally, he opened his eye to squint at her, looking supremely annoyed. “THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE, CREEP?”

Silently, Mabel walked over and sat down in the chair opposite him, picking up a nearby clipboard and pen for good measure.

“THOSE ARE STAFF-ONLY, DUMMY. YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY HELPING YOUR CASE—SO I FULLY SUPPORT YOU! GO WILD! WHY NOT START TRASHING THE PLACE FOR GOOD MEASURE? SET SOMETHING ON FIRE!” Despite his flippant words, his eye was now carefully watching her, searching for something.

Mabel continued to give him no response. All at once, the triangle stilled and his eye grew wide. Boom. Mabel finally let her grin stretch across her face as Bill scrambled upright.

“NO,” he stated flatly, eye flashing between her ID and clipboard before going back to search her face.

“Yes,” she said cheerily, as pleasant as could be. “Meet your new therapist, Mr. Cipher.”

“HA! NICE TRY, SHOOTING STAR. AFTER THAT BOMB OF AN INTERVIEW? YOU'D BE LUCKY TO BE HIRED ANYWHERE,” he declared confidently, but he was looking less sure by the second in a way that Mabel was relishing.

Mabel tilted her head to properly consider the triangle in front of her. He really was tiny. Usually she remembered the giant, world-ending terror that had held her and Dipper while picking which of them to kill. But now? He couldn't have been more than a foot tall. His eye was sunken and exhausted, dull in a way it had never been before. His dumb little hat and bow tie seemed to still be sticking around, though they were now joined by a spiffy orange jumpsuit with a nametag on it. When he moved, the material shifted, and she noticed a long blue crack running across his body like a scar, which she guessed was courtesy of her Grunkle Stan. On the whole, Bill just felt… static. He didn't change colors, or size, or shape, or number of limbs. By no means was he sitting still, but it was the closest to it Mabel had ever seen him. Whatever kept his magic in check must be restricting his shapeshifting too.

She kicked back, refusing to acknowledge his attempt to call her bluff. “So tell me about your childhood,” she prompted with a smile, and oh boy, the glare he shot at her could have levelled cities. Probably had, at some point. Now, though, it just made him look like an angry chihuahua. Mabel (barely) tried and failed to stifle a giggle. This did not improve matters. Maybe she had been too harsh before, this seemed fun.

Then, in a flash, his demeanor swapped back to lounging again. A poor, innocent pillow was plucked from its spot on the couch and tossed between his hands, eye tracking the movement. “WELL, YAWN,” he complained. “EVERYONE AND THEIR GOD HAS ASKED ME THAT ONE. PICK AN INTERESTING QUESTION, WILL ‘YA?”

“Do you think lizards are born knowing that their tails can fall off, or do they just do that one day and they're like, ‘oh shit?’” she asked without thinking. Oops, he had probably meant a question about him.

To his credit, he didn’t even drop the pillow. “HA! NEITHER. THEY INSTANTLY FORGET THEY EVER HAD A TAIL. THE ‘OH SHIT’ MOMENT IS WHEN IT GROWS BACK.” Bill misjudged his next throw, sending the pillow careening towards the desk and knocking over several tchotchkes. Without another glance, he instead began scratching at the couch cushions, which was a difficult task given his lack of nails or claws. “CREDIT WHERE CREDIT'S DUE, I HAVEN'T BEEN ASKED THAT ONE BEFORE. YOU MUST BE A SPECIAL FLAVOR OF FREAK, HUH?”

“Thank you,” Mabel said brightly.

“WHAT ELSE? YOU KNOW, BILLIONS HAVE KILLED FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO GET THEIR GRUBBY LITTLE PAWS ON MY KNOWLEDGE. AND HERE I AM, OFFERING IT UP TO YOU FOR FREE. YOU SHOULD FEEL HONORED!” he announced, pausing for a moment to dust off his sides. For the first time in this conversation, he seemed almost concerningly like his old self, leaning forward with his eye bright.

“How did you get rid of the glass earlier?” she pried.

“I DID NO SUCH THING.”

“So you’re too weak to do that now, got it,” she said, pretending to write down some notes.

“OH, PLEASE! A BEING AS POWERFUL AS ME CAN'T POSSIBLY BE HELD IN CHECK BY SOME STUPID ROCK LIKE THIS,” he snapped back, irritated by the suggestion. For good measure, he found a weak spot of stitching on a couch cushion and pulled, snapping the threads and letting the cotton escape.

“Okay, well, given that you haven't just left yet that seems very unlikely but I'll let it slide.” Mabel tapped her pen on her chin for a moment, thinking. “Alright, here's the deal. You're sick of answering the same old questions, I can respect that. But I need some sort of answer to work with. Can I get the cliff notes, at least?”

“KID, THE CLIFF NOTES ON A TRILLION YEAR LIFESPAN WOULD STILL TAKE A COUPLE YEARS TO SORT THROUGH.” He was now arm deep in couch stuffing, pulling out as much as he could. To be completely honest, it looked pretty fun, and Mabel briefly envied his thin little noodle arms.

“Not your whole lifespan, just the start?” she reasoned.

“I DON'T SEE WHY YOU'RE SO KEEN ON GETTING ME TO TALK WHEN YOU'VE BEEN WAVING AROUND THAT BIG OL’ ENVELOPE ABOUT MY EVERY MOVE. WHY DON'T YOU JUST GIVE IT A READ AND LEAVE ME ALONE, HUH?” His eye narrowed, and he stopped pulling out fluff to cross his arms.

“Hm. Weird, I would've thought you'd jump at the chance to set the record yourself. But fine, have it your way,” Mabel sighed, reaching for the file. She would read it either way, of course (and already had read most of it, but no one had to hear that), but getting Bill to actually talk to her was an important first step. She opened the file with a flourish, crossing her legs as she started to read.

A quick glance to check on Bill told her she had hit her mark square-on. Triangle-on? Either way, his eye twitched in a satisfying manner, and he very much looked like he wanted to say something while the silence simmered between them. Apparently he couldn’t resist for long, as he said, “IF YOU WANTED TO HEAR ME TALK SO BADLY, THEN FINE.” He snapped his fingers, and Mabel stiffened, instinctively bracing herself for some awful effect. But nothing happened aside from Bill now looking a great deal more frustrated, which was probably not what he was going for. “YOU DON'T HAPPEN TO HAVE ANY PAPER DOLLS FLOATING AROUND, DO YOU SHOOTING STAR? SPARE BRAIN MATTER WOULD ALSO WORK.”

“Uh, no to the first one but we could make them, and to the second, not any I’m not already using?” she suggested.

“MAYBE LATER, THIS IS ALREADY TAKING TOO LONG. YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO GO WITHOUT MY JAW-DROPPINGLY STUNNING VISUAL EFFECTS. LITERALLY, THAT BAD BOY WILL POP CLEAN OUT THE SOCKET AND FALL RIGHT ON THE FLOOR! IT'S DISGUSTING!”

“Gee, I wonder why this is taking so long?” Mabel mused to no one in particular, eyeing a snowball-like piece of stuffing near her foot.

“SHUT IT,” he warned, jabbing a finger in her direction before clearing his throat. “WELL, WHEN I WAS A YOUNG LAD GROWING UP IN ATLANTIS—”

“ERNNH!” Mabel shouted back, mimicking a wrong buzzer and putting on her best radio announcer voice. “Too bad, so sad. I’ve at least read enough to know that’s the wrong dimension, dummy. Looks like you just lost ‘tell the whole story’ privileges.”

“AW, WHAT? COME ON, GIMME ANOTHER SHOT!” he insisted, looking very pleased with himself.

“Nope, nice try. Now you have to deal with me asking super specific questions that you’re sick of answering.”

“COME ON, YOU DON’T KNOW THAT THERE WASN’T AN ATLANTIS IN MY DIMENSION! THEY’RE FAIRLY COMMON, ROUGHLY FOUR OUT OF SEVEN DIMENSIONS HAVE ONE.”

The statistic was dubious at best, and the whole thing was probably a lie simply by virtue of Bill saying it, but it was still a fair point. What the hell, why not. Mabel laughed before doing an internal double take at her own reaction. “Alright, alright. The floor is yours.”

“GOOD. GROWING UP, I WAS ALWAYS LOVED AND ADMIRED FOR BEING SO GEOMETRICALLY PERFECT. THIS WAS, OF COURSE, INCREDIBLE TO THE DUMB PLANKTON AND SEA BUGS THAT POPULATED THE PLACE, SINCE THEY COULDN’T CONCEIVE OF SHAPES AS A CONCEPT.” He paused as Mabel looked up from her notepad and raised her hand. “YES?”

“Just to be clear, is the thinking population fish, merpeople, or shapes?” There was a very important doodle of a square surrounded by kelp that required an answer.

“WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST?”

She hummed. “How about shapes with fish tails? Mershapes. But you didn't have a tail, which is why they struggled so much with the idea.”

“WORKS FOR ME!” he cackled.

“What were your parents then, circles?” she laughed, starting to add one to her drawing.

To her surprise, he balked at that, eye narrowing. “EUGH, NO.” With a blink, he recovered just as fast. “EQUILATERALS, THE SAME AS YOURS TRULY.” He paused, then added, “EXCEPT WITH FISH TAILS.”

“Naturally.”

“NOW, ATLANTIS HAD BEEN AT WAR WITH THE CORAL GIANTS BECAUSE ATLANTIS' COLOR PALATTE WAS TOO GRAY FOR THEIR TASTES, WHICH FRANKLY I AGREE WITH. ALL THAT STONE AND SLATE? YUCK. TALK ABOUT A FASHION DISASTER!”

Mabel nodded her head sadly in agreement. “So, we have two lifelong enemies,” she hummed, before gasping with delight. “I sense a forbidden romance here!”

“HAHA, YES! BETWEEN THE HIGH CLASS LADY ANEMONE…”

“And the mershape soldier, uh, Ray!” announced Mabel, already starting to sketch the two. “And their love convinces the mershape leaders to end the war and peacefully return color to Atlantis!” This was more of an improv exercise at this point.

Bill nodded very seriously. “YEAH… I LIKE THAT! WELL, WITH COLOR RESTORED, I WAS FREE TO MOVE ON TO GREATER PURSUITS—THE SURFACE! I COULD SEE IT UP THERE, GLITTERING AND PERFECT. BUT NO ONE ELSE COULD UNDERSTAND WHY I WANTED MORE OUT OF THE WORLD. TO THEM AND THEIR GILLS, THE OCEAN WAS ALL THERE WAS.”

Mabel idly wondered if Bill had perhaps watched The Little Mermaid recently.

Bill almost seemed to hesitate before continuing, eye looking past Mabel in thought before he launched into the next section of his speech. “THOUGH WITH THE WAR OVER, LIFE WAS GREAT! I HAD ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD TO EXPLORE THE SURFACE ON MY OWN TERMS, SO THERE WAS NO REAL RUSH TO GET THERE. I STRUCK OUT ON MY OWN, FLOATING HERE AND THERE TO SEE WHAT LIFE HAD TO OFFER.”

Something about his expression suggested that it was Mabel’s turn. “Ooh, like undersea treasure hunting?”

“EXACTLY! AND BUILDING A FORT TO STORE IT IN.”

“Teaming up with a seahorse to explore the ocean in style!”

“GETTING BETRAYED BY JEFF THE SEAHORSE, HAVING TO TRACK HIM DOWN TO GET MY MONEY BACK!”

“Uhh,” Mabel stalled, sensing a violent turn. “And ultimately forgiving him but still parting ways?”

Bill just stared at her, eyebrow raised.

“Fine, what if he goes to seahorse jail?”

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH HE TOOK FROM ME? I CRAVE BLOOD, SHOOTING STAR.”

For the second time that day, she tried to use her puppy-dog eyes, for whatever good that would do. “C’mon, pleeaaseee? What if it’s a really bad jail and he absolutely hates it?”

Bill squinted at her. “…ONE WHERE HE HAS TO STAY THERE FOR THE REST OF HIS INFINITE LIFESPAN AND ENDURE MIND-NUMBING THERAPY SESSIONS?”

“Oh come on, this is pretty good stuff!” Mabel protested. “Whatever this has been can’t be as ‘mind-numbing’ as your usual routine.”

“LAST I CHECKED WE WERE TALKING ABOUT A SEAHORSE, NOT ME,” Bill insisted, crossing his arms. “BUT SURE, THIS IS AN OUTLIER. DON’T GET ME WRONG THOUGH, THERE’S PLENTY OF THINGS I’D RATHER BE DOING.” As he said this, his tone dropped lower and became significantly more threatening. Mabel gulped when she saw his eye narrow.

“...So is that a yes to the jail plan for Jeff?”

“UGH, FINE. BUT I’M TAKING MY MONEY BACK WITH INTEREST, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. IT’S JUST BAD BUSINESS OTHERWISE!”

Threat sufficiently avoided, the back-and-forth picked up again, with each trying to outdo the other in terms of absurdity. Mabel was fairly certain she’d won when the dinosaurs developed scuba technology to escape the meteor, though Bill retaliated with said meteor unleashing a super-virus that gradually shrank affected individuals until they were the size of a single atom. Perhaps they would just have to call a draw.

At some point Mabel had grabbed a ball of stuffing, which by now coated the floor, and tossed it between her hands. For reasons she could not parse, she was very tempted to stick some in her mouth. It just had that mouth-shaped look to it, you know? Instead, she asked, “So how does it all end?”

“HOW DO YOU MEAN?” replied Bill, sitting upside-down and propping his feet against the somewhat deflated cushion. Clearly he did not have the same reservations about eating the stuffing, his eye forming into a mouth and chomping down on a piece before spitting it back out with a “BLEGH. I THINK THIS ONE’S GONE STALE.”

“I mean, you got to the Nightmare Realm somehow. Left it all behind. How did it end?” She tossed the makeshift ball to Bill, who fumbled slightly but caught it.

“NOTHING ENDED,” he scoffed, sitting upright and pulling apart the ball of cotton. “I JUST… LEFT. PULLED ATLANTIS UP OUT OF THE WATER SO THEY COULD ALL SEE THE AIR WORLD THE WAY I DID. AND THEY THOUGHT IT WAS GREAT! THEY ADORED ME FOR IT. FINALLY, I GOT TO LIVE UP TO MY TRUE POTENTIAL.” He continued to shred the cotton, fiber by fiber.

He did not, Mabel noted, remotely explain how he “pulled Atlantis up.” Nor did he address how everyone else was able to live outside of water. Normally, he seemed to take great joy in using outlandish explanations to justify his plot points. Now, though, everything about his body language screamed “change the subject.” But she couldn’t, not when she might be close to something real. Mabel asked, as gently as she could, “But couldn’t the others not survive in the air?”

Bill’s fists clenched around what remained of the cotton, and he reared back as though burned. “WELL, THEY DID, AND WHO’S TELLING THE STORY HERE, HUH?” he demanded angrily, and Mabel felt a flush of fear sweep through her. His claim was outright false, given how much of the story Mabel had contributed, but it might not have been wise to point that out. Bill continued to glare at her, and while his earlier threats had been anxiety-inducing, this was downright petrifying; it was the difference between seeing a sleeping bear versus a waking one that was actively roaring at you.

Mabel took her cue to back off. The walls were up now—no chance of getting anything else out of him. It’d been a good run, though. “Well, I think we’ve just about done all we can for day one,” she suggested brightly, and he seemed to calm somewhat at the mood change. “Maybe next time I could get a true story?” she asked, feeling a bit daring.

Bill let out a bright peal of laughter and clutched at his sides while she frowned. “OH, THAT'S A GOOD ONE,” he wheezed, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye. “SHOOTING STAR, EVERY THERAPIST IN THE MULTIVERSE HAS TAKEN A CRACK AT ME BY NOW. AND YOU KNOW WHAT? THEY ALL GIVE UP EVENTUALLY. I'M BEYOND INFINITY, KID. I CAN OUTLAST ANYTHING YOU THROW AT ME FOR AS LONG AS YOU THROW IT AT ME. SO SURE, GIVE ME YOUR BEST SHOT! YOU'LL QUIT SOONER OR LATER!” Bill sat up straighter as he announced this, almost proud at his ability to dodge professional help.

Mabel narrowed her eyes. The gauntlet had been thrown. “Oh, we'll see about that,” she muttered darkly, grinning all the while. “Immovable object, meet unstoppable force. Underestimate the Power of Mabel at your own peril, Bill.” She leveled a finger at him in clear challenge.

Bill leaned forward, eye sparking with a similar impish glee. “I LOOK FORWARD TO IT, SHOOTING STAR.”

------------------------

As Bill was escorted back to his room by a couple of guards (who side-eyed the mess they had made but said nothing), Mabel walked towards her new dorm with a spring in her step, feeling lighter than she had all day.

The couch destruction was probably something she was supposed to have stopped while it was happening. Oh well.

Double-checking a slip of paper she had been given with her room number on it, Mabel turned through hallway after hallway, looped around, doubled back, and eventually reached her stop. It was thoroughly unimpressive: just as bland as the rest of the Theraprism. Mabel shook her head sadly. That would not do. It was time to give her new whistle a workout.

After several posters, new bedding, a plant, kisses for Waddles, breaks to breathe through dimensional travel sickness, some plushies, and an hour, her new room was fully Mabelized. With a sense of finality, she placed her notepad down on the provided desk, smiling at the memory.

“Wait, what?” Mabel demanded of herself, slapping her hands to her face to check that, yep, she was actually smiling. After having been forced to talk to Bill Cipher. No, worse, she was smiling because of talking to Bill Cipher. The same Bill Cipher that had tried to kill her and her family, that horribly abused her grunkle, that terrorized her brother, that stuck her in a bubble, and tortured countless other people throughout history. That Bill Cipher? It was so hard to connect the declawed little triangle she had just been with to the monster in her memories, and while she enjoyed seeing him all powerless, it frazzled her instincts.

Mabel stared down at the page before her. Whatever joy it held just a second ago had now soured, and she flipped it over. But you know what? Fine. Mabel trudged over to her bed and flopped in, burying her face in a giant bee plushie. She'd be done with him soon. And what was so bad about her having some fun while she tolerated him? None, none at all. Just so long as she kept it at toleration. Heck, she didn’t even need to do a good job, she just had to show up, put in the hours, and clock out. Give it some time, and bam, goodbye Bill, hello cool new job.

Mabel rolled over. Some treacherous part of her brain picked now to remind her of the challenge Bill had thrown at her, and her gut twisted. Not to mention the way his little Atlantis story had ended, or even its whole existence in the first place. The file had said he destroyed his dimension—wasn’t he usually proud of that sort of thing? Why not brag about it, why try to cover it up? Pushing her face further into the bee, she gave out a strangled groan, seeing her path with painful clarity. She was Mabel Pines, and she did not do things halfway.

That damn triangle was going to get therapized so well he wouldn’t even know what hit him.

Chapter Text

Pink mist floated through the air, curling around galaxies and cosmos that all seemed so small from up here. Cotton-candy clouds scudded by; one stalled in its flight as Mabel reached out, giggling at the way her hand swooshed through it. She blinked, and the blurry expanse before her resolved into a massive pink creature, its body like a fat salamander and a languid smile plastered across its face. As the being examined her, Mabel stilled, then smiled. Whatever it was was pretty cute, honestly. But as she moved to give it a wave, the creature vanished back into the mist, and Mabel woke up.

What seemed like bright, early morning sun surrounded her, filtering in through her tired eyelids. As she laid there, her mind slowly assembled its memory of the previous day, which explained the unfamiliar everything. There wasn’t any notable light source in the room, only the walls and ceiling illuminating on their own. Whatever schedule it was on, she hadn’t set it. There must have been some weird science-biz going on to match her circadian rhythm, or something else that sounded real like that.

Stretching with a yawn, Mabel approached the door. Immediately, she was greeted by a holographic screen jumping to life. “Welcome, MABEL PINES,” it read. “Please swipe upwards to receive your tasks for this wake-cycle.”

With a flick of her fingers, the words scrolled up and out of sight, replaced by a list. The first item was a group therapy meeting with a countdown near it for fifteen minutes, and the second an individual session with one Bill Cipher to be scheduled at her convenience. It was already set to track Earth time, nice!

…In that case, didn’t fifteen minutes mean she had to move now?

Mabel hoofed it down the endless corridors, checking what she had scribbled onto her hand every few seconds to remind herself of the room number. Her hustle paid off—the session was clearly still in the process of being set up when she arrived. What appeared to be an orb of light, around the size of her head, was puttering around and moving chairs into position… somehow. “Hey, need a hand?” she called out with a laugh. The orb did not react. “‘Cause, heh, y’know… nevermind.”

“I’m almost done.” Its voice came as a series of musical chimes, which resolved into words in Mabel’s brain after a moment. “Feel free to grab a donut,” they added, bobbing towards a box on a fold-out table.

“Ooh, thanks!” Mabel deliberated for a moment before settling on a pink donut with rainbow sprinkles. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m #H-EA1. And you’re Ms. Pines, of course.”

“Just Mabel’s fine!” she chirped. “Bold of you to assume I’m not some other new worker that just got lost.”

“Oh no, I’m sure,” it answered offhandedly. “There’s only one human on staff here: you!”

“Huh,” was all Mabel could say, donut near her mouth half-forgotten. She shook it off. “Anyway, what am I doing here today? I thought I was only supposed to work with Bill.”

“Mr. Cipher will be part of the group. Though you are correct, in a way—your main goal is to observe him and to follow-up on these discussion points privately. Director Vera also thought this might help you gain some experience, both with the Theraprism and with Bill.”

“They don’t wan’ any more fightsh,” Mabel mumbled around a mouthful of donut.

“That would be preferable, yes. Or any more destruction of Theraprism property, including, as a completely random example, couches.”

“Wow, word trabels fasht here.”

A perfunctory knock sounded at the door before it opened, revealing a series of six patients led in by a couple guards. After scanning the crowd, Mabel waved when she saw her triangle in the middle of the set. Bill looked deeply tired and very annoyed, though he brightened slightly when he noticed Mabel. He waved back, shouting out “HEY, SHOOTING STAR!” A couple of the nearest patients cringed at his volume. “TOSS ME A DONUT, WILL ‘YA?”

Eh, why not? Mabel sent a donut arcing through the air, and with a slight jump Bill’s gross eyelid-jaws snapped around it. He gave her a thumbs up. There was a vague sigh from the orb of light next to her.

Everyone filed into their seats, and Mabel prepared to do her job and keep an eye on Bill. At first, he kept trying to interrupt #H-EA1, prodding the patients next to him, and either rolling his eye or loudly complaining every time he was asked to be less disruptive, please. When none of these tactics proved effective at making the meeting less boring, he began rotating around to try and find what seemed to be the least comfortable way to sit in an already painful chair and subtly pinching at his arms and legs. This came to a head when he swapped his eye for a mouth and tried to bite down on his own arm, at which point a guard intervened to yank the limb away from his mouth. #H-EA1 made some comment about Bill needing to channel his boredom more positively, which only made Bill scowl harder and try it again ten seconds later.

After about five more tries, one of which was mildly successful, the guard stepped forward again to lean down and whisper something to Bill, looking stern. Almost instantly, his eye flared bright with rage, and his hands squeezed into shaking fists. His bricks took on a red tint, unable to turn fully red without his shapeshifting, and Mabel cringed. Whatever had been said to him, the fallout seemed both imminent and volcanic in a way Mabel didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole.

Bill stared very hard at the ground for a paralyzing few seconds. Right when Mabel braced for impact, he closed his eye and sank down in his chair, going back to his normal yellow. Not quite at ease, but quiet. Bill, quiet? Inexplicably, the rest of the room was carrying on as if nothing had happened, as if the world wasn’t flipping upside down. When he opened his eye again, it was all frustrated resignation. Mabel’s gut twisted. The emotion looked out of place on him.

Mabel picked up her pen and held it there for a moment, nib biting into her fingertip, before making up her mind and scribbling something down. She cleared her throat a little too loudly to get his attention. #H-EA1, mid-sentence about something probably insightful, paused briefly before continuing on as Mabel threw in a “Sorry!” More importantly, Bill was now looking up, directing no small amount of leftover ire her way.

With as bright a smile as she could manage over her unease, Mabel held up the notebook, showing off a doodle of herself excitedly waving and a message underneath asking “Any drawing requests?” As his eye flicked over the paper, some of the tension dropped from his shoulders, and he huffed a silent laugh. Without taking so much as a moment to consider it, Bill instantly pointed to himself. Of course.

Mabel tried her best not to laugh as she directed her attention back to the paper, sketching out an irate-looking triangle with an arrow pointing to him that said “<- DUM-DUM.” With a smug look she flashed the notebook back up to him, and his eye narrowed while she bit back a smile. One of the patients next to Bill, who appeared to be some sort of wizard with a clock for a face, chuckled quietly, and Bill’s glare flipped over to him. Bill jabbed a thumb towards the wizard next.

A few moments later, Mabel presented a very flattering likeness of the other patient, this one with an arrow labelled “<- VERY COOL.” The wizard put a flesh-hand to his face delightedly, clock-hands ticking faster, while Bill just rolled his eye.

It quickly evolved into a guessing game, with Bill making more and more complex hand gestures while Mabel drew random objects until she got it. For at least a couple, Mabel suspected that he gave a thumbs-up just because he didn’t want to bother with it any longer. More than once she felt the orb's attention on her.

“Well folks, that's all for today,” #H-EA1 announced at long last. “Please try to remember everything we talked about for next time,” it suggested lightly.

As Bill was escorted out, he gave a little wave to Mabel, in noticeably better spirits than he entered in. Mabel waved back, then joined #H-EA1 in dutifully folding the chairs up again.

“Mabel,” it started, a tad uncertain. “I understand this is an unusual situation for you, in many ways… but I would appreciate it if you did not distract Mr. Cipher from his sessions.”

“Ha, seriously?” Mabel laughed, before realizing that the orb was in fact serious. “Come on, that's not fair. He was paying the same amount of attention before as after. At least then he wasn't trying to disturb the rest of the group.”

“Which is why I didn't say anything at the time,” #H-EA1 rushed to add, a tad flustered. “But in the future… I know you meant well, but he could really benefit from participating in the group. He can’t listen if he's busy playing games. Not to mention, you weren’t listening either. Sort of defeats the purpose of you being here.”

That part was probably fair. “He was just restless!” Mabel found herself saying. “And I think we can both agree a distraction is healthier than biting himself.”

#H-EA1 rotated in the air and bobbed a few times. Mabel got the distinct impression it was evaluating her, and she squirmed uncomfortably. “Fascinating,” it said at last. “I wouldn't have expected you to be on his side, Mabel.”

“Yeah, well,” Mabel started, feeling a hot wave of embarrassment crash over her head and run down her neck. “I'm not. What did that guard say to Bill, anyway?”

It bounced once in its best approximation of a shrug. “I didn't hear it either. Probably a warning to cut it out, or something like that. There are systems in place to help those patients that are habitual troublemakers.” The response was casual, melodic, but the words themselves felt sour.

“Like…?” Mabel asked, worrying at one of the screws on the chair she was holding.

“For starters, there’s a sliding scale of privileges afforded to a patient, but Mr. Cipher burned through those long ago and hasn’t earned them back since. Beyond that, most common is the Solitary Wellness Void. I swear, not an Earth week goes by before he’s back there again,” it groaned.

Mabel set her chair back silently. Whatever that place was, he probably deserved it. Still… it didn’t sound great. Maybe it was time to ask the triangle himself.

------------------------

This time, Mabel was ready and waiting as Bill bounded into the room, a guard closing the door behind him. “I'VE BEEN TO THOUSANDS OF THOSE THINGS, SHOOTING STAR,” Bill started before Mabel could get a word out, “AND THAT'S THE FIRST ONE THAT'S BEEN ANYWHERE NEAR FUN. THE FIRST ONE THAT'S TOLERABLE, EVEN!”

Mabel gave him her sweetest grin. “Aw shucks. Just doing my job. But on that note, here!” She rifled around in her pockets for a moment before producing a small plastic cube covered in buttons, spinners, and switches. “Something to keep your hands busy while we talk.”

Mabel tossed the toy over to Bill, who seemed unimpressed. Flicking downwards, his eye scanned the object, before looking back up at her with a dubious squint. “REALLY? YOU THINK I WANT SOME DEMEANING KID’S TOY?”

“Yes, really! I think they’re fun. But if you don’t want it—”

“IT’S MINE NOW, BACK OFF!” he yelled, clutching the toy close and lunging away as if afraid Mabel might try to take it anyways. Once placated, he took a few moments to turn it over in his hands, investigating its various functions. After having given every button at least one push, he commented, “CUBE IS A DUMB SHAPE. SHOULD’VE BEEN A PYRAMID,” but he did not look up.

“We should really write them a letter.”

“LESS IMPORTANTLY, YOU REALIZE THIS IS CONTRABAND, RIGHT?” The question was tossed off flippantly, like a remark about the weather.

“Seriously? Something like that? Even if it helps you?”

“MAX SECURITY, BABY,” Bill crowed, waving a finger toward himself and looking proud at his status. “HAVEN'T YOU HEARD? IN THE HANDS OF A DEMON LIKE ME, EVEN A LITTLE TOY CAN BE A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION.”

Mabel scoffed. “I've seen the scissors they let you guys have in the arts and crafts room, these rules are total bunk. Besides, it's only yours during the session. It can't be a problem if you're being supervised, right?”

“SURE.” The buttons clacked as Bill turned it over in his hands, evaluating something. “I GOTTA HAND IT TO YOU, KID, YOU'RE DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF THE STAFF HERE. YOU HAVE THAT SPARK IN YOU—IT MAKES YOU FUN.”

“Uh, thank you!” Compliments from Bill were never a good sign.

“I WONDER WHY THEY’D BRING SOMEONE LIKE THAT IN? DON'T GET ME WRONG, IT’S GREAT, BUT I DON'T SEE WHY THEY THINK IT’S GREAT. THEY'RE NOT EXACTLY THE MOST MERRY BUNCH.”

“It’s not like they're all the same!” Mabel pouted. “Maybe a lot of them are merry, or whatever. You wouldn't know. Besides which, my whimsy is delightful! Why wouldn’t they love it?”

“TRUST ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK HERE A LOT LONGER THAN YOU, AND 'WHIMSY' DOESN'T GET REWARDED. AND AFTER YOU LITERALLY FOUGHT A PATIENT? IT REALLY DOESN'T ADD UP THAT THEY'D HIRE YOU, NO QUESTIONS ASKED.”

Vera had said it was because of their shared history. There probably weren’t a lot of people who had interacted with Bill, lived, and then trained to become therapists. But surely that number was greater than one? Criminal reform wasn’t even in her skill set! It seemed a bit flimsy, but maybe the staff really was that desperate for progress. Mabel kept her mouth shut—she didn’t want to give Bill any more ammo, and she was kinda curious to hear what he was working his way to.

“I JUST HAVE A HARD TIME SEEING WHY THEY’D SPEND SO MUCH TIME AND EFFORT WORKING WITH SOMEONE SO OFF-BRAND. HELL, YOU SEEM MORE LIKE A CASE STUDY THAN A COWORKER!” Mabel sucked in a breath through her teeth, but before she could make a retort Bill snapped to attention, dropping the cube to the ground and looking delighted. “THAT’S IT, ISN’T IT? SURE, YOU TROT AROUND HANGING OUT IN EMPLOYEE LOUNGES AND WEARING WHATEVER SWEATERS YOU WANT, BUT YOU’RE THEIR GUINEA PIG, SAME AS ME!” he shouted with glee, cackling at the end.

“I’m not even wearing a sweater,” she complained. “This is a button-up, it’s not even close.”

“POTATO TOMATO,” he dismissed, waving a hand around in the air and looking supremely disinterested. “MARK MY WORDS, SHOOTING STAR, YOU’LL FIGURE OUT SOONER OR LATER THAT THIS HEALTH HOLE ISN’T ALL IT’S CRACKED UP TO BE. IT’S A SCAM, KID, AND YOU’RE FALLING FOR IT HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER,” he spat, venom entering his voice.

“Oh, please,” she groaned. “The only one pulling a scam here is you. You’re not even being subtle about it! Paranoia with a side of insults is basically your go-to for manipulating people.”

“FINE THEN, IGNORE THE ADVICE OF AN ALL-KNOWING, ALL-SEEING DEITY. BUT FEEL FREE TO COME CRAWLING BACK FOR FORGIVENESS ANYTIME!” he laughed, picking the toy back up again and slouching backwards.

Mabel tried to suppress a sigh. It was Bill, she shouldn’t have expected anything different. Everything he had said was just BS, as usual. "Case study." That one had hurt. An angry, inky scribble started to form on her notepad, and she took a moment to mull it over. Deep breath in, and out. She still had a job to do here.

What was important was why he had said it. If this was anything like his usual brand, it was a poor attempt to get Mabel on his side and earn her trust. Create anxiety, present yourself as a beacon of knowledge, and provide stability where no one else can. To what end, though? If she quit the Theraprism like his fear tactics suggested, that’d be worse for him. Leave and take him with her, then? Was that even possible? It still felt like something was missing. No matter what, there was one thing to be certain of: a Bill with an agenda was a Bill that was dangerous.

When she looked up again, she found Bill watching her carefully. “I’ve been wondering, what did the guard say to you back there?” she asked casually.

“NOTHING IN PARTICULAR.”

Her eyebrows raised. “‘Nothing in particular’ made you react like that? Come on, girl.”

“WHAT, I’M NOT ALLOWED TO REACT TO THINGS? I THOUGHT I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO CLOSE MYSELF OFF FROM MY EMOTIONS. WOW. NOT VERY MINDFUL OF YOU, SHOOTING STAR.”

Teaching Bill therapy-speak was a crime of some sort, Mabel was sure of it. Doing her best to make the action seem idle, she began to flip through his patient file. What #H-EA1 had said about punishments was all she had to go off of—there must be some sort of record included in the file. “Of course you can react to things, Bill. I just wanted to know what ‘thing’ you were reacting to.”

“THURSDAY’S ANIMAL SACRIFICE GOT CANCELLED,” he tried.

“First of all, ew,” Mabel commented, stilling as she landed at what she had been looking for. The “Correctional Record,” as it was labelled, listed every privilege lost and every visit to the Solitary Wellness Void, of which there had been many. Pages upon pages were filled with the details of these trips, how long they took, how recent they were, and his condition upon entry and exit. To her surprise, his stays there seemed to be tapering off, though she had a hard time believing his behavior was actually improving. Aware of the tense silence, Mabel looked up to meet his eye. “You’re sure it didn’t have anything to do with something called the ‘Solitary Wellness Void?’”

Something unfamiliar flashed across Bill’s features for a fraction of a second as he squeezed the toy tight and pressed his back into the couch, pupil shrinking. A heartbeat later he surged forward, growing in size and turning crimson with rage in a way Mabel had stupidly assumed he couldn’t do anymore. Now it was her turn to clutch her papers and pull away, breath catching in her throat as the monster from her memory was made real again. While the adrenaline trickled into her system, all she could think about was how just a moment ago Bill had looked the same way she felt now, and it all clicked into place.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT,” he thundered, already starting to shrink, unable to hold this form for long. “WHAT, YOU THINK YOU’RE SPECIAL, SHOOTING STAR? THINK YOU’RE SMART ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING HERE? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH. THIS JOB HAS GOTTEN TO YOUR HEAD IN RECORD TIME! IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY SMART YOU’D STOP WASTING YOUR TIME HERE AND START DOING SOMETHING WORTHWHILE. YOU WANNA HELP ME SO BADLY? GET ME OUT OF HERE, AND I’LL MAKE THE AXOLOTL LOOK LIKE A JOKE!”

That all stung, but Mabel’s mind was elsewhere as he ranted. Of course, it was so obvious now! That unfamiliar look—Bill was scared. All his complaints and anger towards the Theraprism were just a cover for that fear. No wonder he had insisted so strongly that they didn’t have Mabel’s best interests at heart—anyone on their side could never be on his. It was like some sort of trust shortcut, creating a common enemy and letting the camaraderie follow.

“EVEN IF YOU DON’T, YOU’RE JUST DELAYING THE INEVITABLE. THEY CAN’T KEEP ME HERE FOREVER, SHOOTING STAR, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GET ON MY GOOD SIDE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

Brushing a thumb over the log of Bill’s visits to the Void, it was difficult not to draw some parallels to Earth. Solitary confinement could really screw someone up. For Bill to be so fearful of it, enough to actually curb his behavior to avoid it… Mabel wasn’t about to pity the guy, but it made you think. Some part of her wanted to hold out, wanted to believe it was just another trick, but the more he yelled, the more certain she became. If he wanted her to think him afraid, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to cover it up.

“IN FACT, YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE? THEY’LL LET ME OUT, BECAUSE EVENTUALLY THEY’LL REALIZE THERE’S NO POINT IN THERAPIZING ME WHEN I’M FINE!”

The once-again yellow triangle in front of her was breathing heavily, still incensed but all yelled out about it. The scar across his body was looking worse, widened and irritated in a painful sort of way. Small pieces of his bricks had broken off at the ends of it, still floating nearby. If he was afraid of the Theraprism, there was no chance of him working with anyone associated with them, and that included her. Without trust, her challenge was over before it even began. Mabel opened her mouth to reply, when there came a sharp knock on the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal a security guard.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he explained, sounding a tad awkward. From Mabel’s angle, she watched as Bill slipped the cube she had given him behind his back. “It’s just that the noise was audible from down the hall, I wanted to check that you weren’t in any danger.”

“HAV—”

“Nope! Everything’s fine,” Mabel chirped, cutting off whatever likely incriminating thing Bill was about to say. “Thanks for checking in, though.”

The guard gave them both another dubious once-over, and Bill waved at him, mustering up a cheerful look. If the guard noticed the effort, he didn’t comment on it, and a moment later the door shut again.

Bill’s gaze flicked back over to Mabel, questioning, and she shrugged. “Maybe you were right,” she said, and he looked well and truly happy at that concession. Before he could take that too far, she raised a finger and added, “Or maybe not. Either way, I don’t see why we should get security involved over something like that, don’t you think?”

“OH, I AGREE! SMART THINKING, SHOOTING STAR,” he praised, beaming in her direction. She raised an eyebrow at him. It probably would have been best to let him think his blatant pandering was working, but oh well. Thankfully, he seemed to take this in stride, his demeanor not shifting in the slightest.

That seemed like the majority of what she needed from him for the day, so Mabel kicked back and asked, “Well, we still have some time left. Anything else on your mind today?”

“NOTHING BUT TIME HERE,” he snorted. “BUT SURE, I’LL CHAT. EVER SEEN A CHICKEN GET BEHEADED?”

“Nevermind, topic-setting privileges revoked.” Mild nausea set in at the thought. “Why not something like ‘seen any good movies lately?’”

“I HAVEN'T. I’M IN JAIL.”

“Oh. Right. Then it’s your turn again, I guess.”

Bill tapped his fingers on the cube, considering. “...FAVORITE ORGAN?”

She made a face. “The musical kind.”

“AW, COME ON, I THOUGHT HUMANS LOVED THOSE THINGS! ALWAYS GOING ON AND ON ABOUT ‘OH NO, PUT MY STOMACH BACK, I NEED THAT’ AND WHAT HAVE YOU!”

“Yeah, I need my organs, but…” Whatever retort Mabel was about to give dropped out of her mind as she considered the point he was making. “Huh. That is weird, actually. Like, I hate thinking about them being there, but I also rely on them? Talk about ungrateful.”

“EXACTLY! PICK A FAVORITE SO THEY WON’T FEEL SO IGNORED!”

“Heart, then. My turn: favorite color?”

“YOU CAN’T SEE IT.”

“I figured. Describe it!”

“HMM. LIKE IF ULTRAMARINE WAS SELF-RIGHTEOUS AND ALSO A SOUND. FAVORITE SHAMPOO FLAVOR?”

------------------------

Everything in the patient file seemed to corroborate her theory, which she examined in the comfort of the employee lounge. The few times a worker tried to foster any sort of connection with Bill and appeal to his interests, he rebuffed them. Though, to be fair, most of these interactions sounded so forced that Mabel cringed slightly when reading them. That particular wrinkle made it difficult to tell if it was the Theraprism throwing him off or the stilted speech. Either way, Bill was being much more receptive with her than with anyone else thus far, so it was the little victories in life.

Still, that didn’t mean trust. If she wanted to overcome that barrier he kept up around literally everyone, she had to make a genuine connection with him. This was something she tended to be good at, thank you very much. But it's a two-way street: she would either have to place trust in Bill herself or become very, very good at faking it, which would be difficult with the literal paranoia poster child on her hands. If she wasn't careful, she'd be just another Theraprism employee trying to manipulate him, and he'd clam up for the rest of time.

…If she wasn't careful, she could stop seeing him as a threat, and that was a far more dangerous result. But that tightrope had to be walked if she wanted to make progress, so walk it she would.

Sighing, Mabel flipped the file shut, then brightened immediately as the lounge door swung open, and a big, green, featureless figure she hadn't met before walked in. That green color shifted around inside of them, almost like a lava lamp. “Hello, fellow employee!” she called out, waving enthusiastically.

The being seemed to startle a little, their coloration now shifting to a light orange as they waved awkwardly back and retreated towards the kitchen.

Bill was full of it, obviously. But there was one thing he had been right about. It wasn't hard to see that Mabel didn’t fit in among the employees. Plant-people and cozy (if alien) animal-people seemed the most common demographic. They were followed closely by the light orbs, and then the amphibians. There was a smattering of less-common ones, such as this color-changing fellow here, but there was always someone else in whatever category they were in. A pair for every person.

Mabel was the only human.

The thought had echoed around in her head since her chat with #H-EA1, hiding in the background while she went about her day. This was never usually something she'd mind. Even in a crowd back on Earth, she tended to be the odd one out, and she was rather proud of that. It was less fun when nearly every coworker shied away, always surprised to see her there and always made nervous by her approach. Who could blame them? She was the loose cannon brought in to deal with the even looser cannon—plus, she had to imagine the story of her brawl had spread fast, so that wasn't ideal either.

No matter. Mabel marched her way up to the newcomer. They eyed her as she approached, still that amber color, but now with flecks of light blue sprinkled throughout. “Hi! I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Mabel,” she announced, sticking out her hand.

“Marcus,” they intoned, returning the handshake. Their hand was one giant mitt, and it felt glassy and cool to the touch. As she watched, a pink wave began to spread out from where her hand touched the glass, slowly covering it like heat leaching out.

“Wow,” she breathed, watching as the pink pulsed outward once more, soon joined by a few ripples of light blue. Even then, the wave never got much further than his wrist. Marcus seemed to consider this as well, his main color cooling to his previous green. “That’s incredible! I already thought you looked cool, but this is something else.” As she withdrew her hand, the colors began to fade in a way that sparked a memory, and she gasped. “Wait a minute, I know these colors! Are you, like… one giant mood ring?”

Marcus laughed. “Pretty much. It helps a lot at a job like this. I'm not sure how the rest of you function without it.”

“Now that you mention it, I don't know either! Say, you wouldn’t be willing to try out your mood powers on a certain triangle I know, would you…?”

“It’s been tried.” As they paused, a wave of black passed over them and they shuddered. “Believe me, it's been tried,” they repeated in a strained voice.

“O-kay. Well, good on you for giving it a go! Let me know if there's ever anything I can help you with, alright?”

“Sounds great, Mabel. See you around.” He waved as she pranced away, scooping up her file and heading out the door. “Case study” her ass. Most of them were just nervous, that was all. A little small talk and they warmed right up. It wasn't like she had needed it, but it felt good to remind herself that none of what Bill said was ever true. That also meant Mabel had been hired because of her history with Bill and because the Theraprism was desperate. That was all, so there was no use dwelling on it.

------------------------

She dwelt on it. In what was probably the late hours of the night, long after the adaptive lights had darkened, Mabel fought through a wave of revulsion and was forced to admit: her and Bill did share a certain sense of “whimsy,” as she herself had put it. The accumulating evidence stared her down from across the room, pages worth of drawings and stories made together. It was more than possible that Vera and whoever she worked for had seen that similarity and seized upon it, like putting the distractible kids on a project together and hoping they kept each other in check. The sole fact that she was a therapist that had interacted with Bill? Incredibly weak reasoning, even if you considered how influential her and her family had been on his life’s trajectory (in that they ended it). But a therapist that shared some damning similarities with him, similarities the previous staff had tried and failed to manufacture in their own conversations with him? Now that was worth looking into.

Mabel didn’t want to have anything in common with Bill. Obviously she wasn’t like him in the bad ways, she knew that, but the comparison was still uncomfortable. Beyond that, it was just further proof that beneath the cruelty and the, well, Bill-ness, there was a person. A fun person, even, whom it was her job to find. The subtle but terribly important distinction was that searching was different than believing it was truly in there. That was just too far. This… this wasn’t enough to convince her yet. But it was enough to make her question.

Chapter Text

With a slight yelp, Mabel landed in her apartment once again, grabbing onto a chair to stabilize herself from the trip. The early evening sun—real, actual sun!—shone in through her window, greeting her return fondly. Like usual, Waddles oinked curiously at his human’s sudden bout of vertigo, but didn’t bother investigating further.

One week had passed, and it was officially vacation time. Well, as “vacation” as it could be when she was still going back to an actual job. At least her ears would get a week to recover from that triangle’s constant yelling.

As anyone could have predicted (and many had), not much more progress had been made. Anytime she tried to ask a real question, Bill dodged, turned it around, or flat-out refused to answer no matter how carefully she approached. There must have been some tone in her voice Mabel wasn’t disguising well enough, because Bill had the uncanny ability to sniff out the second a conversation turned sincere and would react like she had just handed him a glass of cyanide and asked him to give a toast. Actually, on second thought, he’d probably take that a lot better.

The only exceptions to that blockade were their improvised, outlandish stories about “Euclydia,” though it was never called that. Only then, steeped in a layer of fantasy, was Bill willing to even entertain the idea of having a home dimension at all. This method was certainly more difficult than asking him about it point-blank, but not impossible. There were trends Mabel had noticed in his stories, parallels present in almost every single one. No damning conclusions could be drawn just yet, but they made for interesting clues.

One typical feature was him feeling held back in some way, though Mabel suspected this was just Bill complaining about his current imprisonment. Similarly, Bill seemed to like being a loner, rebelling against authority and fighting his way out of cruel, unfair situations imposed by those who disliked him. Simultaneously, there was always something “special” about Bill, the sort of charisma that made him beloved by all who met him. When Mabel had dared to point out how it made no sense for him to be both universally adored and a pariah, Bill had rudely dismissed this as jealousy. Without further context, it was tough to tell which portion had been added after the fact, though the charisma part seemed… unlikely, in her professional opinion.

Above all else, the golden rule was that the story always had a happy ending. The people were saved, they went on to explore new lands, they all praised Bill for whatever wonderful thing he had done to help them. Any pushback on this matter would not be tolerated. Normally Mabel was all for that sort of thing, but knowing what she did about Euclydia, the contrast just made her skin crawl. Funny, that the most omnipresent detail was the easiest to refute.

The day before she left for her week-long break, Mabel had started trying to pry into his motivations. More specifically, she wanted to know why the Theraprism's privilege system had been ignored so far. It had been brief: she’d observed, “I’ve noticed you don’t seem to care about the incentives here,” to which he replied, “WOULD YOU?” and that was the end of that. There was something mildly frustrating about the exchange, like not quite being able to read the fine print on a label. An external reward system would have seemed perfect for him, had it not already been tried and failed.

Now that she was home, though, she had bigger things on her mind. Bigger, sibling-related things. Like how you explain to your brother that you’re now giving therapy sessions to the guy that tortured your family, tried to kill you, and nearly took over the world. Oh, right, and mentioning that he’s still alive in the first place. Can’t forget that wonderful detail.

It had been long enough, and keeping Dipper in the dark wouldn’t end well. He’d know something was up sooner or later. Agonizing over it would only make it worse—she had to act, now. Making up her mind, Mabel grabbed the phone and punched Dipper’s contact in her “recents” list, praying for him to pick up before she could back out.

Dipper, ever reliable, picked up after a couple rings. “Hey Mabel,” he greeted casually, rustling sounds coming through the speaker as he jostled the phone around and up closer to his face. “What’s up?”

“Heeey Dipper,” she echoed, far less enthusiastic. “I’ve got some news, and… you might want to make sure you’ve got an hour.”

“Is this about that weird letter thing?” he asked instantly, energy picking up, and Mabel internally kicked herself for not keeping him posted on that front. This would be a much easier call if she had just updated him after she actually got the letter. “I knew there was more to it! What exactly happened to you?”

Mabel bit her tongue, now caught between the full story and cutting to the chase. Perhaps some context would help ease the blow? “Well…”

------------------------

An hour later, Mabel had described most of her first encounter in full detail, pausing every now and then to listen to Dipper's questions as well as the excited pen-clicking noises the phone picked up while she answered. She herself had made a few laps of her apartment and now had settled down next to Waddles’ bed. It wasn’t every day one of your family members took a trip through the multiverse, though it happened a lot more frequently than you’d think.

By this point, there was nothing more she could do to delay it. “Okay, so—are you sitting down? Ready for this?”

“Sure,” he answered cautiously. “I really don’t know what you think I would need to sit down for after the rest of the story you’ve given me—and everything we’ve lived through—but sure.”

She’d had, what, a few weeks to think this over? Not to mention the whole hour she’d stalled for leading up to this moment. Despite all of that time, she was still struggling to find the right words. Every last second, no matter how unhelpful, felt precious. “Whoof, okay, here goes. The good news is, this should answer some questions!” There was an awkward pause, and she pictured Dipper narrowing his eyes in suspicion at her tone. “You know how we always kinda sorta wondered what happened to Bill in the end?”

The phone was dead silent.

Mabel allowed him to sit with this for a few moments before lamely adding, “Turns out he’s a patient there. The very same one I was supposed to be working with. Small multiverse, huh?” The weak laugh she gave to accompany this did nothing to alleviate the tension.

“Oh, shit,” Dipper finally said.

“I know, right?”

“This—why didn’t you say anything? What if—oh my god, are you alright? Why would they bring you in in the first place, don’t they know—it could have been some sort of trap, maybe he’s the one that set it up—”

“Dipper, Dipper!” she interrupted, heading off his doom spiral before it could start in earnest. “Breathe. I’ve thought about this a lot by now. Like, a magically long amount of time. We already knew he was alive, right? After that dumb book he left behind?”

There was no sound on the other end, but she decided to interpret it as a nod.

“So I figure this isn’t really that big a deal.”

“It kinda is!?” he shot back, incredulous. “How do we even know that what you saw wasn’t all… fake? Just more mind tricks?”

“It felt nothing like Mabeland, if that’s what you mean. Besides, if he invented all this, do you really think Bill’s ego could stomach being a patient there?”

“...Fair point.”

“If he still had his powers and he wanted out—which he for sure does—he would be out already! Clearly the place is working. Well, it’s not working vis-à-vis therapizing him, but it’s keeping him away from everyone else, which is just as good in my book!” Idly, she began running her hand over Waddles’ back, who appreciated the use of her nervous energy.

“I guess? Just… wow.” For a moment he was quiet, and she could hear a tapping noise on the other end of the line. “It is nice to know where he ended up. I know it didn’t matter, but I was always sort of curious. I mean, it’d have to be serious to keep him contained,” he joked, and Mabel chuckled, though neither had much humor. “It’s good to know we’ll never have to see him again. Still weird they brought you in, though. I mean, they couldn’t possibly think you’d accept the job after that, right?” he asked, now laughing with a touch more heart.

Mabel’s fingers stilled on Waddles’ head, and he looked up at her with interest.

“Mabel? You refused, right?” Dipper asked again, desperation seeping into his voice.

“Well…” she stalled.

“You're kidding me.”

The disbelief on the other end of the line was palpable, and she cringed. “Sort of, at first?” she offered instead.

“Why did you add ‘at first.’ Why did you say that.”

“I mean, listen, we know he’s basically powerless—”

“That’s not—sorry, ‘basically?’”

“So it's not like he can do any harm! And the job sounded really cool beyond that, which means that all I have to do is put up with him for a while and then boom, cool space job! C’mon, you can’t say that you wouldn’t want that too!”

There was a brief pause. Ha, got him there. “This—this is a lot to take in,” he said instead, sounding strained. “We must be talking about different Bills, because there is no way you’re telling me that you are now Bill Cipher’s therapist. That just can’t be right.”

“Triangle, one eye? Pretty sure it's the same one, bro.”

“And you didn’t say anything until now?”

Something delicate twinged in Mabel’s chest at the hurt in her twin's voice. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. Though, in our time it's only been a few hours since I joined, so it really hasn’t been that long!” It was true, but the excuse felt weak. “I should’ve explained it all after the letter, I just… I had thought it was all over with, so I didn’t see a point in worrying everyone with where Bill is now. At least, not until I could figure out a good way to say it. It got a bit more pressing to tell you now that… well, now.”

“Wait, so—how long have you been working there?”

“To you? A couple hours. To me? A week.”

“Woah,” he breathed. “Talk about a time difference. We should test how that works sometime.”

“Totally.”

There was a strained silence on the other end of the phone that Mabel frowned at, unease pooling in her gut. “What’re you thinking, Dipper?”

“A lot of things,” he laughed. “Right now? I’m trying to figure out how we tell our grunkles.”

Ah. Yeah, that was going to be even worse. Even thinking about having to break the news to them made her want to stuff her head in a pillow and hide forever. Ford in particular… he should be able to leave Bill in the past. Something heavy settled on her heart. “What if we just… didn’t?” she suggested quietly, trying not to feel so treacherous for saying it.

That task became a lot harder as she heard Dipper suck in a breath through his teeth at the thought. “They have a right to know, Mabel.”

“They do, I know, but I don’t want to worry them.” She briefly opened up their family group chat and scrolled to their most recent photo. It was a selfie of the two, horribly taken, but endearing nonetheless. They were crowded around their latest discovery—some kind of ambulatory, glowing mushroom that had become an accidental stowaway and was now very lost. “I mean… their retirement is going so well. I don’t want any of their past business coming back to haunt them. They deserve better than to think about Bill again.”

“Don’t we?” Dipper argued back. “I mean, it’s, it’s… absurd that the Theraprism would ask this of you. It’s appalling, actually.” He was correct. He was correct, and she knew it, and there was no reason for the words to twist her gut the way they did. “I know he’s just a stepping stone, but that’s a big ask. Are… are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Mabel bit her lip. “If I didn’t think I could handle it, I wouldn’t have agreed, you know. Maybe it’s a test? Like, if you can put aside your differences and work with someone who’s personally hurt you, then you won’t have any qualms with the rest of their villains!”

“Hm, oh, what’s this? It’s”—there was a clatter, as though something hit a table on the other line—“yup, that’s a 32 on my disbelief check. I disbelieve. It's still a bad reason to make you go through with it.” They both paused, then laughed. “...I know you’ll be safe. It’s weird for you to be going into something like this alone, though.”

“Trust me, it’s just as weird on this end.” There was a pause as they both had the same thought: we’re usually a team. It didn’t really need to be said now—from colleges to careers, it had already been said a dozen different times. “We can still work together on this,” Mabel suggested instead. “There’s plenty of funky dimensional stuff I need help with. Plus, I bet I could get you a visitor’s pass or something so you can see the place.”

Dipper breathed a laugh, and she could tell he was smiling warmly. “Thanks, Mabel. I’d be glad to help. But speaking of talking things through with family members, I still think we should tell our grunkles. If something does happen, I’d rather we all be prepared to deal with it.”

Unconsciously, she hugged Waddles closer. “What if this distracts one of them long enough to get in trouble? Or the shock of it is too much for them? They’ve got old hearts!”

“Mabel, you can’t seriously do the work you do and expect to keep this from them forever.”

She sighed. “Fine, you win. Really, though, I don’t want to just text them ‘hey, turns out Bill’s alive and in therapy but don’t worry about it, also I’m his therapist!’ This should be an in-person thing.”

“...Over the phone?” he tried to compromise.

Mabel made a strained noise as she considered this. “Video call. Final answer.”

“Alright, that’s fair.”

“AND some time to figure out what to say.”

Dipper seemed doubtful. “I mean, it’s your news. Being late to the party isn’t usually the best feeling, though.”

“I know,” she whined, “but it’s been difficult enough telling you. At least let me get some sleep first.”

“Fine, fine. I’ve done my part here. Final question, though: are you actually helping him?” The question had no real preamble, no hesitancy, and Mabel was thrown off balance for just a moment.

On autopilot she shrugged, forgetting he couldn’t see it. “I could be doing a lot worse, that’s for sure!” What sort of a question was that? The tone was hard to parse: was it fueled by curiosity, or apprehension? “It hasn't been very long, but I think it’s going well so far.”

Apparently, this was the wrong response. “Mabel, he really doesn’t deserve your help. You know that, right? I, for one, am not that worried about how Bill is feeling after everything he’s done.” Ah, so it was more of a “why are you helping him” question. That, she could answer. She had asked it herself more than enough times.

“My whole job is to help people. What kind of a therapist am I if I condemn one patient over another? If I do it right, then he’ll be the sort of person who does deserve to be doing well.” That was a damn big if, and they both knew it. “Besides, the whole reason they brought me in is because they’re out of options. I think I might be all the hope he has.” She paused, then added with a tinge more accuracy, “Plus, Bill said I couldn’t, and I thrive off of spite.”

“Okay, definitely get that, but it’s not like he’s actually going to change,” Dipper said doubtfully. “Even with you on the case, it just seems like a waste of time.”

Dipper was right. She knew this. It would be foolish and dangerous to believe otherwise. “It’s not a waste of time!” she blurted instead, drawn into defensiveness like a moth to the flame. Admitting she was putting so much effort into pushing against a brick wall somehow seemed worse than acknowledging it was possible, even as a more rational part of her brain screamed in protest. Or, perhaps it was just the instinctual urge to argue with her brother propelling her forwards.

Before her mind could scramble together a defense out of thin air, she could hear the raised eyebrow on the other end of the line. “You actually think he can change? Is that what you're telling me?”

“No,” she blurted again, painfully aware of the pile of dirt accumulating beside her as she dug herself deeper and deeper into this hole. “It's… I'm saying…”

“I feel like you don't even know what you're saying at this point,” Dipper supplied doubtfully. Waddles oinked in agreement at this in a rare moment of betrayal.

“I just mean, theoretically, he could change. If he wanted to. Which, he never would, but…” At long last, she found a lifeline and seized upon it. “But he might change his behavior. Odds are somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, he's still bad but not taking it out on everyone else, which is an improvement!” Which would be great, except usually external motivators of some kind would be really helpful if that were the case, but apparently there was nothing that could get him to care—her thoughts cut off abruptly as she looked to the side, eyes catching on something colorful. “He just needs some…” Mabel reached out to pick up a nearby sticker sheet. “Encouragement.”

------------------------

Minutes later, Vera yelped in surprise as Mabel threw the door to their office open. “Ms. Pines?! Didn’t you just start your break?”

“Yes, but, this is important. I’ve got an idea for Bill but I need it to be okayed first so that the guards don’t just mess it all up and I couldn’t wait until next week because I got excited and I think we’ve established by now that time is irrelevant here anyways,” Mabel declared in a rush, pulling out the chair in front of the desk and flopping down.

“This sounds terrifying, go ahead.”

Mabel did jazz hands by her face, whispering, “Stickers.”

Vera looked at her blankly, one petal-eyebrow raising.

“We already know he doesn’t really care about the process here. Or the idea of improving at all. But I think that’s just because he doesn’t have anything to look forward to if he does. It’s comfortable to stay where you are, and the perks for opening up or responding to any sort of questioning are basically nonexistent. Why not give him something to enjoy?”

There was a rustling sound as Vera drummed their root-like fingers on the desk. “Sure, but the perks aren’t nonexistent. We already have a privileges system here. And he lost all of them. I’m warning you, there’s a reason he’s in maximum security. What's so good about these stickers that the privilege system doesn't provide?”

Something in Vera’s words irked Mabel, and she bit back a harsh reply. Of course I know there’s a reason for that, she thought bitterly instead, taking a breath and mentally resetting herself. Mabel’s reasoning probably wasn’t what Vera wanted to hear, but it was (hopefully) the truth. “No offense, but the privilege system here sucks—according to Bill!” she rushed to add, seeing Vera’s flat look. “He told me so himself, and now that I'm saying it out loud I realize that's never the best source to cite but I hope you get the idea. He thinks it's all boring, and I'm betting you and your bosses think that anything matching his more macabre tastes would be encouraging bad behavior. Why not compromise? A sticker is perfectly harmless, but if he thinks it's entertaining, it could be a useful tool. Plus, they'd be easier to get than the usual privileges, which might help make the effort seem worth it.”

The fronds on Vera’s head twisted uncomfortably, while Mabel folded her arms and leaned back. “You’re not… entirely wrong.” Ha. “But this is still a big ‘if’ you're basing this on, and there’s a lot of hoops to jump through to file an exception like this. Are you really sure it's worth it?”

“Of course I'm sure, I'm sure about everything!” When this failed to garner any sort of reaction, Mabel sighed in frustration. If it was paperwork that got her idea shot down, that was… honestly, not a great sign for the rest of her time working here. “I’m his therapist! I’m, like, saying he medically needs stickers to improve his behavior. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“From a more senior officer, sure.”

“Ah, yes, all those senior officers who tried and failed to get through to Bill. The senior officers you passed over in favor of hiring a complete outsider who never even formally studied forensic therapy. Those senior officers?”

For a moment, Vera stilled, eyes widening, and Mabel was seized with the ice-cold certainty of too far, turn back, turn back. Then they leaned back, face resting on their fist, spending a few seconds to think it over. Cautiously, like a turtle peeking out of its shell, Mabel chanced the thought that perhaps it wasn’t over yet.

“You already have the stickers picked out?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“And you really think he’ll like them?”

“...I would.”

This seemed to be the final push her idea needed. Vera leaned back and waved a hand with an odd tilt to their eyes. “Granted, then. I’ll have the paperwork through by the time you’re back. If he eats the stickers or something, that’s on you.”

“Oh please, I can’t even count how many times I’ve done that! I have to imagine his digestive system is at least as good as mine. He’ll be fine.”

Despite themself, Vera huffed out a laugh. “Was that all, then?”

“Well, I was gonna ask about letting him keep a fidget toy or something with him, but—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Then, just one last thing?” Mabel held up a finger as she rifled through her bag, eventually producing a sticker of a teddy bear with big letters around it spelling out “THANK YOU!” Reaching over, she stuck it on Vera’s sleeve, then gave them a thumbs up.

------------------------

The next Monday morning back on Earth, after rushing out the front door with a hastily-grabbed granola bar as breakfast, Mabel’s feet slowed, then stopped. Somewhere in her head there was a voice warning her to get a move on, but listening to it felt ridiculous now that she could taste the simple freedom of being outside. The world was so bright, so colorful, so… alive. Between Mabeland and now the Theraprism, Mabel was beginning to wonder if the flow of time itself lent the world a little spark.

If she wasn’t already running late to her money-paying job, she’d be tempted to go for a run, or climb a tree, or maybe just lie down face-first in some flowers. The breeze was crisp and beautiful, and more than anything else she was realizing how starved her lungs were for proper air. Was it even the same kind of air, over in the Theraprism? Grunkle Ford had once mentioned something about how Earth’s particular combo of nitrogen, oxygen, and whatever else was terribly underrated. The statement hadn’t held much weight for her at the time, but now she understood it with dizzying clarity. This had only been a week—thirty years was unconscionable.

Another quick glance at the time convinced her to settle for appreciating the walk to work for now. As life had turned out, Mabel hadn’t ended up all that far from Piedmont, living further south and closer to San Jose. Ultimately, the Northwest region felt like home, so she’d stayed in California and searched for the closest therapy practice that would take her. She had hopped jobs a few times as she settled into the working world, but for the past few years she had been a proud employee of North Star Guidance, LLC, a family counseling center.

Settling back into her old routine was shockingly easy. Seeing her usual clients and coworkers (all notably human) felt oddly comforting, even reassuring. It was as if she were confirming they hadn’t all just vanished when her life took a sharp left turn. Not to mention, it was good to have a distraction from the Theraprism’s specific challenges and to have clients that didn’t wish her dead.

As Mabel listened to an older couple give their update on the past couple weeks, her eyes were dragged upwards to focus on a rather geometric piece of abstract art that perched on the wall above her couch. Usually being so distracted from a client was unthinkable, but she found her attention arrested by the colorful triangles innocently watching her from the canvas. No, not watching, there were no eyes here. And even if there were, he didn’t have that sort of power anymore.

She still felt watched.

Shades of this feeling had already begun creeping into her life after her first disastrous visit to the Theraprism, but with further exposure to Bill it had doubled. For fifteen peaceful years this hadn’t been an issue, excepting the time directly after Weirdmageddon. Being back in that paranoid headspace again was entirely unwelcome, and not to mention completely unwarranted. This was different, she told herself. She was in control here, she was choosing this. Bill held nothing over her.

“So we... Are you alright?” The old woman questioned suddenly, and the tone shift snapped against Mabel’s reverie like a rubber band.

Carefully, Mabel unclenched the fingers crumpling her notepad, making an attempt to smooth out the paper afterwards. “Of course, I’m sorry about that,” she apologized sheepishly. “Please continue.” Something still nagged at the back of her head, a ping from the patient files she was meant to be putting down for the week, and Mabel risked one last glance at the brightly colored geometry before officially returning her attention to the couple.

…Why did Bill always color the triangles he drew red and blue?

The question was scribbled down on a corner of her paper, before finally being banished in favor of the patients actually here with her now.

------------------------

At last, there was a terrible deed that needed to be done before she could return to the Theraprism. Well—two terrible deeds. But calling up her grunkles to give them the bad news still seemed like too monumental of a task to even conceptualize, so this was the winner. Scrounging through her apartment, Mabel collected up as many sticker sheets as she could, to great success. Most were animal themed, which fitted her purposes nicely, though with one she got lucky and found a collection of cartoonish drawings of various organs. He’d love that.

Summoning up her courage, Mabel forced herself to play god and choose which would live, and which would die. Some poor gorilla went first—one clean tear and his arms were now woefully separated from their owner. Muttering a quick apology to the paper, she flipped through and found the recipient: a small, adorable hedgehog. A small, adorable hedgehog that now had giant, buff gorilla arms pasted onto him. The torn paper almost looked like stitches, completing its Frankenstein-esque makeover. In turn, the gorilla was supplemented with snakes for arms.

This mashup process continued in her spare time, though it earned her one or two odd looks in a coffee shop. Occasionally, she had to pause to admire whatever affront to nature had just been created—they really were fun to make. Bill was going to love this. Probably. Hopefully. It seemed similar enough to the sorts of monsters he’d unleashed during Weirdmageddon.

On the last day of her break, having finally finished fusing her creations together, Mabel flopped down onto her apartment floor next to Waddles and held out a map for his perusal. It mainly concentrated on the nearby area, with some sites of interest or activities marked out. Importantly, they all had one thing in common—they were willing to let pets inside. “Whaddya say, Waddles? Wanna hit the town?”

Waddles oinked excitedly, then bonked his snout against the paper. Mabel twisted her head to peer at the spot he’d chosen.

“An excellent choice, good sir!” she exclaimed, rubbing the top of his head.

It was easier to take Waddles out places when she was younger, both due to her age and Waddles being a lot smaller then. They had been a tough duo to say no to. Heck, she’d even smuggled him into school a good few times. Nowadays she tended to trial-and-error her way through the town to figure out where she could bring him, official policies be damned. This process had gotten her kicked out of more than her fair share of buildings, but on the plus side she’d found several that merely looked the other way when she and Waddles visited, so it was worth it. Technically, her apartment building was one of those. Another one was the aquarium, for some unknowable reason.

As they approached the entrance, Waddles squealed with delight. He picked this spot more often than the others, and always seemed entranced by the glowing water and peaceful fish—personally, Mabel had no doubts that smart little piggy had correlated bonking that part of the map with being taken here.

“Thanks!” she replied to the person at the ticket booth, who gave Waddles a dubious glance but shrugged and moved on. It really was incredible where a confident attitude could get you. Mainly places you had no right to be. “Probably helps that you’re such a perfect little gentleman all the time,” she cooed at Waddles.

Strolling through the aquarium, the pair took their sweet time. The hallways themselves were dark, the only lighting emanating from the tanks. The fish seemed mostly unbothered by their presence, with a few seeming to look at them in return. Occasionally, Mabel dug deep and hoisted Waddles up for a better view, which was a far better workout than anything else she’d ever tried.

Being surrounded by all this wildlife, it was striking her how odd it was that so many of the alien Theraprism workers looked like humanoid versions of Earth fauna. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the fish and animals looked like the aliens. Though, there wasn’t any reason that it should be an alien-only phenomenon. What if they all thought she looked like some human-ish animal from their homes?

Mabel decided to stop picturing such a thing.

It wasn’t a busy day at the aquarium, but soon a few of the kids in attendance had their attention diverted by the nearby pig, who was always a gracious celebrity. A group of three had collected up, their parents (and Mabel) keeping a watchful eye nearby on all involved parties. Admittedly, she felt a little bit bad for stealing the fishes' spotlight.

“He’s so pink and round!” one kid chirped happily, marveling at Waddles’ chubby cheeks. “He looks like one of those lizard thingies.”

“I didn’t think they had lizards here?” Mabel questioned, tilting her head.

“Do you mean the salamander, hon?” one of the parents supplied.

The kid thought about this long and hard for a few moments. “Yeah,” he declared finally, whirling around to level a finger at one of the displays down the hall. “Over there.”

Once Mabel and Waddles disentangled themselves from the group, they made their way over. Mabel leaned in closer to the glass, eyes darting around to try and find where the creature was amongst the greenery. A flash of movement caught her attention, and moments later a small, pink creature darted out from under a branch placed there for cover. Not shy at all, it scrambled its little legs upwards to hover in front of her face, looking at her with dot eyes and a dopey smile.

“Well, hello friend,” she giggled, giving it a little wave. Glancing over, she read out the plaque. “‘Axolotl,’ huh? You know… you look familiar. But you’d think I’d remember a cute face like yours.” Mabel squinted at the amphibian, who continued to float there, unfazed. The most it did was wiggle its limbs a little to keep from sinking back down in the water.

A thought struck her then, and Mabel held up a finger to tell the axolotl to wait while she rifled through her bag. “You seem like a smart fellow. I’m wondering what an acquaintance of mine will think of this.” Saying this, she produced one of her motley sticker sheets. “What do you think? We’ve got limited options to work with, but I’m hoping it’s better than nothing. He can be real picky, though.”

The axolotl did not respond, but it did move closer to inspect the sticker sheet. Somehow, it seemed to smile wider, then followed this up by swimming in a merry circle in the water. Mabel laughed and nodded sagely. “I see, I see. Thank you for your input.”

As the pair moseyed on through the aquarium, Mabel couldn’t help but throw a glance back over her shoulder, watching the retreating tail of the axolotl disappear again. There weren’t any triangles here, no out of place eyes or paranoia-causing imagery. All the same, for just a moment, she could have sworn she felt watched.

------------------------

The greater of the two evil deeds was also approaching its deadline. She’d tell them. She had to tell them. Mabel had to tell them, and it was going to be her second miserable news delivery in a week, and directed at people much more imperiled by it.

Maybe with just a little more time—no. That thought was cut off at the base before it could take root. “Tomorrow” turns into “next week” turns into “never,” she knew this. There was only one solution, the same solution she’d used with Dipper: charge in head-first.

Despite this resolution, her finger stalled above the phone screen as if repulsed from its surface. Deeming that attempt a failure, she dragged her hands across her face instead, letting out a groan. “Why is this so difficult!?” she yelled out to no one in particular. “Really, what’s the worst case scenario?”

…The worst case scenario was pretty bad, actually. Dipper hadn't taken it all that lightly, and Ford had been through much worse than either of them had. It had taken years before that hunted expression ever truly left his eyes, and even now Mabel suspected it was a matter of “less often” rather than “gone.” The last thing she wanted was to be the reason it returned. Then, after all of that, that would only be half the news. The other half would be that she was willingly returning, that she really was trying to do a good job here against all reason and logic. Neither of the grunkles would take kindly to that. What kind of a family member helps the person that hurt you?

There wasn't really a good answer to that.

Mabel dialed the number defeatedly.

One ring.

Two.

Three. Already her resolve was slipping.

Four. She was feeling desperate.

Five. Time, she just needed time. Why was it always time?

Six. Her eyes fell on the whistle resting near her keys.